ALVMNVS  BOOK  FVND 


LEGENDS  OF  THE 
NEW  WORLD 

BY 

WILLIAM  H.  BABCOCK 


BOSTON 

RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

THE  GORHAM  PRESS 


COPYRIGHT,  1919,  BY  WILLIAM  H.  BABCOCK 
All  Rights  Reserved 


Made  in  the  United  States  of  America 


The  Gorham  Press,  Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 
LEGENDS  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD 

PAGE 

THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  ESSEX        ....  9 

THE  QUAKERESS 41 

THE  BOOK  OF  DEATH 49 

THE  STORY  OF  ALVAR 56 

THE  VALE  OF  AVOCA 65 

ELKIN  HAY 70 

ELIZABETH  OF  MENDOTA 83 

THE  LIGHTS  OF  MARBLEHEAD    ....  120 

POEMS  OF  MEDITATION 

THE  COUNSEL  OF  THE  HILLS      ....  125 

LOOKING  BEYOND 131 

FOR  THE  SPLENDOR  OF  THE  WORLD      .     .  135 

HERITAGE 137 

THE  VOYAGE  OF  ST.  BRANDAN  .     .     .     .  139 

THE  BURDEN  OF  1898 149 

WAITING  FOR  DAY 151 

WALT  WHITMAN 152 

TRANSVAAL 153 

LARK  AND  NIGHTINGALE 154 

EDGAR  POE'S  GRAVE 155 


^70160 


PROEM 

FULL  twenty  leagues  of  ribbon-like  lagoon 
And  barren  sand-wall  guarding  from  the  sea: 

Eastward  the  deep  surf  booms  and  many  a  dune 
Waves  its  dry  grasses  where  the  wind  sweeps 
free. 

Westward  the  woodlands  darken,  and  the  moon 
Touches  quaint  eves  of  home  and  hostelry. 

A  world  of  dreams  and  slumbers ;  for  no  tide 
Stirs  the  dim  pulses  of  this  landlocked  mere: 

A  shore  of  dreams  and  slumbers,  overdyed 
With  shifting  greys  on  drapery  dull  and  sere: 

Where  the  still  red-fox  will  not  seek  to  hide, 
And  querulous  terns  are  hovering  all  the  year. 

A  patient  world,  not  lonely;  for  it  waits 

Careless  of  man,  and  takes  him;  though  he  come 

With  eyes  of  love  and  worship,  or  through  gates 
Of  rattling  storm-land  hurled  afar  and  numb ; 

Or  idling  even  as  we.     It  hath  no  hates, 
It  knows  no  love  nor  lord;  and  it  is  dumb. 

Yet  in  the  glimmering  void  a  fire  will  wake 
Round  the  light-dipping  hand  or  trailing  oar; 

A  formless  glory,  quivering  off  to  break 
And  melt  and  vanish  on  the  watery  floor. 

Even  so,  in  trancing  starlight,  would  I  make 
The  dread  fire  waken  in  the  tales  of  yore. 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  NEW  WORLD 


THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  ESSEX 

IN  the  days  when  our  western  power  of  the  sea  was 

yet  in  the  making, 
When    heroes,    a    handful,    battled    the    thousand- 

plumed  victors  of  ocean 
In  a  wonderful  world  half  known,  wide  waste  of 

the  haze-hung  waters. 

Out  of  the  stress  of  the  time  the  forms  ever  young 

and  eternal  — 
The  wanderer  lured  by  romance,  the  champion  god- 

like in  prowess, 
Eager  and  strenuous  loom,  as  of  old  by  the  bright 


Or  where  tall  Northman  crews  drove  stormward 

behind  their  Raven, 
Wild-eyed    and    merry    of    heart,    with    hair    that 

streamed  in  the  onset. 

Forth  from  her  leaguered  port  our  gallant  frigate 

the  Essex 
Flew  with  white  wing  o'er  the  main,  dipped  through 

the  whirl  of  the  tempest, 
Paused  and  swooped  and  sped  on,  elate  with  her 

burden  entaloned  — 
Cruiser  of  war  full  armed  or  ample  freighter  of 

commerce. 
Ever  by  many  a  shore  for  her  consorts  three  she  was 

seeking  — 
Ever  by  Afric  isle  with  its  age-worn  fortalice  crum- 

bling, 

9 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Ever  by  hot  Brazil  of  the  diamond  sands  and  the 

palm-trees : 
(For  the  Indies  afar  were  they  set,  strange  land  of 

spice  and  pagoda) 
But  never  that  greeting  befell  and  the  quest  was 

endless  and  weary. 

Voicing  the  heart  of  all,  outspoke  the  laurelled,  the 
leader, 

Porter  the  heedful  and  brave  the  frank  and  wily 
and  fervid, 

Passioned  with  rare  emprize  and  the  subtle  spells 
of  the  ocean, 

But  still  self-bearing  as  one  with  whom  great  issues 
abided, 

Just  in  his  sternest  mood  and  great  and  kingly  of 
spirit. 

"Lost  are  our  comrades  to  us,  mayhap  to  their  coun- 
try and  service. 

Not  for  our  loneness  may  we,  being  trim  and  ready 
for  battle, 

Loiter  on  barren  shores,  till  bitter  ill  chance  has 
befallen. 

Yonder  the  sunbright  seas  with  multitudinous  booty 

And  each  ineffable  charm  of  delight  and  achieve- 
ment allure  us. 

There  lies  the  Spanish  main,  the  tawny,  the  storied, 
the  golden, 

The  galleon-haunted  shore,  aforetime  the  harvest  of 
glory. 

Again    shall    our   swift   keel   wake   old    thrills    of 
abounding  adventure 
IO 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


And  the  mariner's  revels  be  crowned  by  the  wealth 

of  rovers  and  princes. 
Grim  are  the  frowns  of  the  Cape,  but  kind  are  the 

island  beauties." 


Answered  with  swift  acclaim  the  eagle  hearts  of 

the  Essex. 
Gaily   the   sails   outflew,    southward    their   burden 

bearing, 
Meeting  and  greeting  the  cold  and  the  wrath  of  the 

cape  of  terror, 
Struggling   through   doubtful   days,   while   the   sea 

and  the  sky  warred  on  them, 
The  teeth  of  the  rocks  and  the  ice  hungrily  ever 

in  waiting, 
Then    into   genial    scenes    they    rode   on    softening 

breezes. 

Keen  through  the  warm  new  sea  they  darted  hither 
and  thither, 

Out  of  the  perfect  calm  a  swift  irruption  of  terror, 

Winning  great  store  of  spoil  and  sowing  destruction 
behind  them, 

But  setting  the  captive  free  and  speeding  the  hope 
of  their  people, 

Now  in  that  strangest  world  of  the  lost  isles  the 
Gallipagoes, 

Full  of  fantastical  shapes  waddling  crude-born  out 
of  chaos, 

The  giant-tortoise  land  heir  of  blind  regions  forgot- 
ten, 

II 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Now  in  the  Chilian  bay  whence  newly  the  foreign 
bigot 

Fearful  had  fled,  and  the  flush  of  stalwart  waken- 
ing vigor 

Welcomed  the  viking  crew  as  allies  and  comrade- 
freemen  ; 

While  through  the  balmy  night  the  velvet-eyed 
senoritas 

Vied  in  mirth  and  in  song  and  gay  luxuriant 
dances. 

Or  again  by  the  Inca  shore,  where  the  fleet  vice- 
regal corsair 

Bowed  her  banner  and  pride,  yielding  her  fangs  to 
the  ocean. 

But  the  still  assault  of  the  sea,  corrosion  of  wave 

and  of  weather, 
Left   them   in   evil   case,   with   urgent   need   of   a 

haven ; 
Hovering,  shunning  espial,  and  the  ruinous  fate  of 

the  helpless. 

Hope  cast  anchor,  that  held,  in  a  floating  dream  of 
the  sunset, 

Of  westering  land  far-seen  and  lost  and  found  and 
forgotten, 

Of  clustering  mountain  isles  and  soft  traditions  of 
Eden. 

Quoth  one:  "If  they  seek  us  there,  they  will  seek 
us  also  in  Heaven." 

Far  from  the  knowledge  of  men  flew  the  wayward- 
wandering  Essex. 

12 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Wing-worn,  enamoured  of  rest,  they  came  to  the 
isle  Nooaheevah. 

A  snow-white  drift  they  came  where  life  forever 
was  drifting. 

Supple  forms  from  the  beach,  bright-robed  or  nude 
to  the  billows 

Outward  gazed  in  disquiet,  warming  to  friendliest 
welcome : — 

Children   of   fluttering   foam   and   of   leaf-shadows 
fairily  dancing, 

Under  the  breadfruit  globes  they  poised,  they  pos- 
tured allurement, 

Over  the  valley  sward  beckoning  nymph-like  they 
fled  in  their  laughter ; 

Loitered  through  feathery  glooms  of  the  tall  bam- 
boo by  the  margin 

Of  vine-hung  intricate  forest  or  gorgeous-blooming 
morasses, 

Rich  in  their  succulent  green ;  where  the  white  robes 
beaten  and  flossy, 

Shone  like  the  egret's  plume  and  deep  eyes  were 
gleaming  and  longing. 

There  by  the  broad  smooth  bay  in  the  ocean-scent- 
ed breezes 

Dwelt  the  wanderers  long  mid  the  tufted  shadows 
of  palm-trees; 

Garnering  all  they  should  need  for  sea-days  wait- 
ing before  them, 

Garnering  marvellous  tales  for  distant  harbor  and 
roadstead, 

Sinking  or  seeming  to  sink  in  the  soft  enfolding  of 
nature. 

13 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Yet  were  there  clangorous  blows  where  the  ships 
careening  besought  them 

Unkempt  in  their  hampering  crust  and  raggedly 
scarred  by  the  surges. 

Also  a  fair  town  grew,  stout-walled  and  with  ban- 
nered portal, 

And  all  things  ordered  well,  behooving  men  of  their 
birthright. 

Thither   repaired   full   oft   the   olive   tribesmen   of 

Tayeh 
Welcomers  first  to  the  isle,  shorefolk  and  friends 

of  the  stranger; 
Thither   their   wise   old   chief    the   burden-browed 

mild  Gattaneewa, 

Line-wrought   from   head    to  heel   like   the   wave- 
wood  of  dark  Honduras; 
Thither  came   Mouina,   the  war-lord,   redoubtable 

spearman, 
Tallest  and  goodliest  he  where  all  were  of  stature 

and  goodly 
And    ever    his    scarlet    cloak    was    the    banner    of 

vehement  onset. 
But  now  there  was  truce  in  the  isle,  with  freedom 

of  woodland  ranging. 

Idly  abroad  at  noon,  Porter  the  musing  commander 
Knew  a  presence  before  him,  love-bright  and  such 

as  men  bow  to, 
Stately  and  goddess-swift  and  moving  to  unheard 

music. 

14 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Forthright  and  fearless  she  came,  with  eyes  bent  on 
him  discerning, 

Caught  the  flush  of  his  cheek,  the  lightening  sud- 
den and  eager, 

Swerved  aloof  and  was  gone,  the  leaf-screen  joining 
behind  her: — 

Only  a  flutter  of  white,  a  quivering  petal  of  color, 

A  rustle  of  boughs  to  tell  of  Taleyah  princess  of 
Appah. 

Peace  fled  with  her,  the  morrow  wakened  with  war- 
shouts  and  lances. 

Motley,  gay-flowering  the  hills,  or  naked  as  shad- 
ows of  fury, 

Down  from  their  airy  home,  their  high  invincible 
fastness, 

Angered  by  rumor  of  wrong,  athirst  for  the  plen- 
teous booty, 

Warriors  of  Appah  were  crowding,  eager,  derisive, 
defiant. 

Before  them  the  bread-fruit  trees  were  falling,  a 
portent  of  famine, 

And  the  souls  of  the  Tayeh  were  sad  and  sore  and 
daunted  within  them. 

Bore  through  the  press  Mouina,  his  plumes  wild- 
tossing  behind  him. 

Flinging  abroad  his  arm:     "Behold! — Why  linger, 

Opotee  ? 
Brothers  are  we? — Then  strike  in  our  cause  and 

scatter  and  slay  them." 
15 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Sternly  the  white  chief  heard  his  rude  imperious 
chiding, 

Wont  from  old  to  utter  commands,  yet  rarely  en- 
dure them: 

Loth    moreover   to   slay.      "This   ill   becomes   you 
Mouina," 

Quoth  he:    "In  my  hand  I  hold  the  choice  of  peace 
or  of  battle; 

And  when   I   will   I   choose,   nor  hasten   for  any 
brawling." 

Flushed  Mouina  wrathful,  turning  with  scorn  un- 
hidden. 

Glossy  dark  to  the  eye  were  his  circlets  of  arm  and 
of  ankle: 

Burned  in  the  sun  his  cloak,  swirling  firelike  about 
him; 

The  spear-blade  quivered  and  shone  over  the  toss- 
ing feathers. 

There  by  the  verge  of  the  throng  he  halted  and 
flung  behind  him 

Angry   and    taunting   words,    the    depth    of   bitter 
contemning. 

Fury  swift  and  wild  seized  on  the  sea-king  derided. 

Weapon-snatching  he  sprang,  then  cast  it  clanging 
beside  him, 

Laughing  bitter  and  low  in  the  instant  ebb  of  his 
passion ; 

Shamed  to  be  wroth  with  a  soul  in  the  dusk  of  its 
infancy  groping, 

More  than  shamed  to  have  sought  the  life  of  the 
heart  that  had  welcomed. 
16 


Legends  of  the  New  World 

Loyally  then  he  sent  this  warning  to  warlike  Appah. 
"Hold  you  aloof  from  the  valley,  lest  some  great 

evil  befall  you: 
Or  come  but  in  brotherly  barter  for  all  the  desires  of 

your  people." 

But  they  laughed  his  herald  to  scorn;  sending  for 

answer:     "O  moonfolk, 
Rather  we  seek  with  no  traffic  the  treasure  you 

bring  us  unbidden. 
Man  unto  man  we  would  test  the  power  of  your 

weapons,  unfearing; 
Trusting   to  those  we  have   tried,   as   our  fathers 

trusted  before  us." 

Silent,  a  cannon  was  set,  lifting  loftily  seaward. 
Round    it,    vivid,    elate,    clustered    the    olive-hued 

allies, 
Watching  the  bird  go  forth  and  sail  at  east  o'er  the 

billows, 
Unswerving,  high  in  air,  with  faint  far  plunge  in 

the  ocean. 
Lower  the  aim,  and  their  concourse  laughed  and 

shouted  together, 
With  eyes  on  the  skipping  globe,  as  it  smote  the 

green  and  rebounded. 
But  most  of  all  they  rejoiced,  with  gay  delighted 

prevision, 

When  the  grape-shot  springing  abroad  into  foam- 
tatters  rended  the  water. 
Down  by  the  side  of  the  gun  they  flung  them  with 

fondest  caresses, 

17 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Lifted  with  praise  of  its  weight,  calling  it  "strong," 

the  earth  clinging. 

Holding  it  well  aloft,  bore  it  afar  to  the  mountain: 
For  such  was  the  sea-chief's  will  and  the  battle  was 

set  for  the  morrow. 
Porter  abode  by  the  ships,  but  he  gave  of  his  best 

for  their  leader — 
Downes  whom  they  called  Onow,  the  stalwart,  the 

dogged  and  daring. 

Wearily  plodded  the  hours  with  their  scant  allot- 
ment of  tidings, 
Shadows  of  this  and  of  that,  rumour  to  fatten  on 

rumour. 
Hither  and  thither  he  roved,  unquiet,  unsated  of 

vision. 

Thus  it  befel  that  the  heart  of  that  slumbrous  and 

mystical  season, 
Soft    mid-afternoon,    welcomed    him    floating    and 

lonely, 
Poised  in  a  fairy  realm  scarce  clearer  above  than 

below  him. 
Lightly  the  quivering  shell  swayed  with  his  easiest 

motion, 
Languid   lift   of   the   blade   or   delicate   zephyrous 

kisses. 
Dainty  the  trailing  fringe  leaf-curtaining  comrades 

and  harbor. 

Dreamlike  the  floating  sounds,  mingling,  stilly  ex- 
pectant, 
Wariest  rumble  and  creak,  merriment,  murmur  of 

voices 

18 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Broken  or  half  withheld,  as  of  men  when  a  thought 
bears  on  them, 

But  never  an  echo  astir  of  flight  or  of  firm  with- 
standing. 

All  the  tenuous  mere  was  vivid  with  tinted  coral, 

Fan-like,  fern-like,  flower-like,  changeful  parterres 
of  the  ocean; 

Pinnacles  too  and  domes,  minarets  jewel-encrusted, 

Cavernous  cliff  and  trellise,  thicket  of  frostwork  in- 
woven, 

Splendor  thronging  on  splendor,  many-hued  marvels 
of  beauty. 

Soft  came  his  breath  as  in  sleep,  dreamland  en- 
thralled and  possessed  him 

Strangely  in  magical  light  the  forms  necromantic 
uncertain 

Poured  through  the  gate  of  the  eye,  flooding  and 
chaining  his  spirit. 

Suddenly,  not  from  afar,  woke  a  ripple  of  wave  and 
of  laughter, 

Such  as  the  sea-nymphs  may  use  or  fays  of  the  flut- 
tering woodland, 

Beyond  all  music  of  woods,  and  he  lifted  his  eyes 
and  beheld  her. 

Whence  had  she  come  to  his  side  with  no  herald 
of  sound  or  of  vision? 

Smooth  and  perfect  the  clearness  lay  all  about  and 
below  them ; 

Not  the  least  beading  of  foam  nor  aught  that  could 
serve  for  a  token! 

19 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Only  the  airy  poise  of  the  blade  and  its  dainty  ca- 
resses, 

Lightly  then  cast  by  her  side,  in  a  dance  of  clatter 
and  challenge, 

Only  the  foamy  robe,  loosened  from  waist  and  from 
shoulder, 

Airily  tossed  on  the  prow  with  the  careless  grace  of 
her  people. 

Hinted  of  sway  and  stroke  and  some  slight  warm- 
ing of  effort. 

Nude  to  the  waist  she  leaned,  a  goddess  lovely  and 

lucent, 
Supple  as  wrestling  wave  and  the  kiss  of  the  foam 

could  make  her 
Vivid  and  queenlike  with  mountain  air  and  the  sun 

and  the  breezes. 

Golden  glints  and  gleams  played  on  the  round  of 

her  beauty. 
Ruddy  lights  shot  up  alive  from  the  glory  beneath 

her. 
Deeper   far   deeper   the   eye   through   vistas   fairly 

broken 
Followed  delights  untold  and  scenes  that  no  fancy 

hath  fashioned. 

Lowly  she  leaned  her  down,  her  fingers  the  soft 

wave  dimpling, 
Smiling  in  ambushed  mirth,  her  lips  yet  lovely  with 

laughter, 

20 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Kindly  her  deep  brown  eyes  in  their  bliss  of  perfect 

contentment, 
There  in   the  coralline   bay — Taleyah   princess   of 

Appah ! 

Boat  unto  boat  drew  near,  with  never  a  motion  of 
oaring, 

Drifting  as  magnets  drift,  idly  floating  together. 

Ah  but  her  eyes  knew  well ! — and  laughed  and  wel- 
comed and  triumphed: 

Eyes  that  had  been  so  chill,  so  set  and  proudly  re- 
pellant ! 

Faintly  came  through  the  haze  goldenly  veiling  his 
spirit 

A  ray  of  wonder  and  doubt,  but  vast  was  the  power 
of  that  tempting. 

Suddenly  lifted  her  head,  then  sank  but  with  hark- 

ening  feature: 

Nought  had  come  to  his  ear,  yet  likewise  he  wak- 
ened and  harkened. 
Pleadingly  broke  her  speech,  headlong,  importunate, 

fervid 
As  of  one  whose  moments  are  few  and  clamor  for 

speed  and  for  urgence 
Yet  was  it  music  to  hear  and  he  gathered  the  heart 

of  its  burden. 
Gesture  and  tone  and  glance  made  proffer  of  love 

unbounded 
To  him  her  god  of  the  sea,  her  hero,  her  glorious 

ally. 

21 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Doubtfully  heard  while  she  spoke  were  the  sounds 
that  had  wrought  on  her  spirit, 

Plainlier  soon,  though  afar, — tumult  of  whooping 
and  shouting, 

Scatter  of  musketry  fire  and  manifold  howitzer- 
echoes. 

Suddenly  turning  thereat,  she  grappled  his  arm  in 
a  tremor. 


Then  all  the  mirth  that  was  growing  within  him 
awoke  into  laughter. 

"What,  are  they  giving  way?"  quoth  he.    "And  the 
great  gun  affrights  you? 

— Driving  you  here  to  be  friends  ere  worse  should 
come  of  the  quarrel? 

Thanks  to  my  interceder,   beyond  all  children   of 
cannon ! 

Bid  now  your  people  be  wise  and  peace  will  follow 
their  yielding. 

But  whether  in  peace  or  war  let  strife  be  never  be- 
tween us, 

Between   Opotee   the  sea-chief  and   the  sunbright 
goddess  Taleeyah !" 

Wary  she  eyed  him,  she  listened,  wise  in  all  word- 
less communing, 

Language  of  finger  and  tone,  lip-play  and  brow-play 
and  gesture. 

Drew  them  away  out  of  touch,  haughty  in  frown- 
ing resentment; 

Spurned  her  light  craft  from  his  own;  gathered  her 
swan-cloak  about  her. 
22 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Wavered  she  there  in  her  flight,  for  another  and 
greater  was  nearing. 

Swiftly  along  the  ridge  they  streamed  they  huddled 
in  racing, 

Goodly  figures  and  fierce  yet  stung  by  a  hurrying 
terror: 

Rallying  in  fitful  halt,  with  rearward  javelin  volley, 

Flourish  of  challenging  arms  and  shower  of  sling- 
thrown  missiles, 

War-clubs  wild  upflung  and  champions'  rush  for 
spearwork : — 

Again  the  shattering  jar,  the  streaming  along  the 
sky-line ! 


Blithely  behind  them  toiled  the  eager  and  shouting 

seamen, 
Clambered  the  soldiery  gay  in  semblance  of  orderly 

speeding  ; 
Manifold,  menacing,  wild,  hurried  the  tumult  of 

Tayehs, 
Under   their   tossing   plumes,   and   among   them   a 

brazen  outglinting 
Showed    to    the    eye,    then    was    lost,    then    shone 

through  the  huddle  of  bronzes: 
Keener    than    diamond    rays    cutlass    and    bayonet 

sparkled ; 
Flame-like  before  them  all  sped  the  scarlet  cloak  of 

Mouina. 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Porter,  with  laughing  eye,  turned,  but  her  eyes  were 
imploring. 

Tears  hung  doubtfully  there  and  wounded  pride  lay 
in  ambush. 

Over  the  thwart  she  leaned,  loveliest  arms  out- 
reaching. 


High  beat  the  pulse  of  his  heart,  his  brow  was  tan- 
gled and  rueful. 

Softly  he  spoke:     "If  I  would,  full  surely  I  could 
not,  Taleeyah. 

See,  how  far  they  have  sped  for  a  voice  merely  mor- 
tal to  carry! 

But  you,   sweet  witch   of  the  wave   and   fairy  of 
woodlands  enchanted, 

Try  them  with  murmurous  spells  of  clear  ineffable 
music 

Such  as  the  sea-nymphs  use  when  loneliest  halls  of 
the  ocean 

Echo  and  thrill" 

But  Taleeyah,  heedful  and  anxious-hearted, 

Reading  his  face  and  tone  though  the  words  were 
vacant  and  foreign, 

Felt    the    bitterness    deep    of    their    loving-playful 
denial  ; 

Whirled  and  flew  from  him  angered,  tossing  black 
scorn  behind  her, 

Parted  the  drooping  boughs,  and  was  lost  in  the 
shade  of  the  forest. 

Open-eyed  he  gazed,  then  laughed  in  dismay  o'er- 
lightly; 

24 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Called  and  called  again,  "Taleeyah!"  then  loudly 
"Taleeyah!" 

Pressed  through  the  leafy  veil  wary  of  tokens  of 
ambush ; 

Found  the  delicate  shell  that  had  swayed  with  her 
over  the  coral, 

Also  her  footprints  found  by  the  dint  of  the  prow 
on  the  sand-beach, 

But  gone  was  the  soul  of  his  dream  Taleeyah  the 
lovely  enchantress, 

Gone  as  the  voice  that  he  sent  idly  through  wood- 
lands unheeding. 


Slowly  back  to  the  ships,  watchful  and  doubtful  and 

musing, 
He  wended,  her  visible  presence  clinging  in  fancy 

about  him, 
For  still  in  the  core  of  his  spirit  he  glowed  with  her 

beauty  surpassing. 
Blithe   lay   the   harbor   resplendent;   the  voices  of 

men  in  their  labor, 
Merry  with  light  exaltation,  woke  in  expectance  and 

triumph. 
Rarely  from  over  the  ridges  came  echoes  of  strife; 

the  soft  breezes 
Tilted  the  fronds  of  the  palm-trees,   toying  with 

banner  and  pennon. 

Peace  was  abroad  in  their  Eden,  peace  the  all  gra- 
cious and  lovely. 
Far  as  old  years  and  dim  pictures  the  passion  and 

pageant  had  vanished. 
25 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Soon,  from  their  mountain  home,  trooped  the  laugh- 
ing beauties  of  Appah, 

Lighter  than  nature  in  tint  and  marvels  of  child- 
like adorning. 

Some  new  race  they  seemed,  airy  and  sprightly  and 
gracious, 

With  never  a  wrong  to  forgive  and  delighted  in  all 
delighting. 

Also  Taleeyah  came,  but  with  smiles  no  more  for 
Opotee  ; 

Rather  for  strong  Onow,  the  stormer  of  forts  and 
of  spearmen. 

Marvelled  Porter  thereat,  as  at  some  strange  power 
of  controlment, 

For  he  knew  not  the  island  heart,  nor  its  ebb  and 
flow  like  the  billows, 

That  abide  not  at  all,  but  follow  ever  the  moon  in 
its  courses, 

Ever  the  bright  new  moon  with  no  token  of  any 
before  it. 


Quaintly  wrinkled  his  brow;  his  face  was  baffled 
and  smiling: 

"Simple  these   islanders   seem — more   naked-simple 
than  infants! 

Yet  I  discern  they  are  far  beyond  me,  O  men  of  the 
Essex. 

We  have  made  them  ours  wjth  our  flag,"  quoth  he, 
"shall  we  ever  make  them 

Human   as   we   are   human,   souls   to   be   compre- 
hended ? 

26 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Speed  then  our  needful  toils,  let  us  leave  this  realm 
of  enchantment, 

Where  fancies  cloying  and  sweet  and  visions  en- 
thralling enfold  us, 

Far  from  the  living  world,  the  world  of  honor  and 
duty." 

But  fondly  enticement  clung.  The  groaning  an- 
chor, upheaving, 

Brought  with  it  sighs  and  tears  and  plentiful  dark- 
ness of  spirit; 

Sorrow  of  men  who  must  tear  the  clinging  fibres 
that  held  them; 

Sorrow  of  women  who  loved,  though  in  lightness 
that  went  with  their  loving 

— Eyes  to  be  seen  no  more,  voices  and  forms  of 
that  dreamland ! 

Swift  came  the  Essex  again  alert  to  the  Chilian 
border 

Haunt  of  trafficking  ships,  gay  home  of  the  south- 
land dancers, 

Querying  early  and  late,  with  all  behoof  to  be  wary. 

World-round  the  trailers  had  borne  the  long-armed 
vengeance  of  Britain, 

Wroth  with  their  vanishing  foe,  the  baneful,  the 
daring,  the  splendid! 

Dogged  and  near  were  they  now,  with  life  and 
death  in  the  balance. 

Fierce  and  still  lay  the  Essex  in  the  harbor  of  Val- 
paraiso, 

Gun-shotted,  clear  o'  the  deck,  at  bay  from  maintop 
to  keelson. 

27 


Legends  of  the  New   World 


In  drove  the  frigate  of  Britain,  veered  and  swept 

up  beside  her, 
Strained   for  assault,   but  a   kindlier  change  came 

over  her  spirit. 
Smiling,  her  captain  saluted,  with  friendly-cheerful : 

"Good  morrow." 

Porter  gave  meet  response,  but  his  smile  was  set 

and  sardonic. 
"Good  day,"  quoth  he.     "Have  a  care;  it  were  not 

well  you  should  foul  us. 
You  have  no  right  where  you  are:  we  judge  by  act 

and  by  token 
Touch  but  a  rope  of  this  ship  and  without  a  word  I 

shall  board  you." 

Then  was  a  compact  made  to  meet  on  the  open 
water, 

Ship  unto  ship,  full  stored,  and  with  formal  sum- 
moning challenge. 

Porter  sallied  thereon,  but  the  Briton  drew  off  to 
his  consort, 

Mindful  that  double  strength  has  the  better  war- 
rant of  fortune. 

Lingered  the  Essex  awhile,  at  ease  in  the  neutral 

roadstead, 
Eyeing  the  leash  of  them  daily,  sea-wolves  in  wait 

to  assail  her; 
Seized  then  a  prosperous  hour,  and  flew  with  the 

wind  to  her  speeding, 
28 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


All  of  the  bright  sea-world  opening  frankly  before 

her, 
The  world-wide  realm  of  renown  and  achievement, 

the  home  of  the  hero. 

Rose  the  heartening  cheer,  then  broke  and  died  in  a 
moment: 

For  out  of  the  south  the  gale,  wheeling,  sprang  sav- 
agely on  them, 

Snapped  the  mainmast  off  and  whirled  it  abroad  o'er 
the  water. 

Helpless  on  the  lee  shore  of  a  land  half  hostile,  un- 
hopeful, 

Wistfully  eyeing  the  sea,  Porter  cast  anchor  and 
waited. 

Slowly  up  to  their  prey  flaunted  the  war-ships  of 
Britain, 

Rainbow-motley  in  pennants  and  streamers  of 
gaudy  devising: — 

Forty  long  reach  guns  to  six  and  the  carronadoes, 

That  could  bear  but  a  little  way  and  were  harm- 
less as  blowpipes  beyond  it! 

Five  hundred  fighting  men  to  a  bare  two  hundred 
and  sixty. 

Choosing  their  ground  at  will  where  never  a  broad- 
side could  reach  them, 

One  lying  dead  astern,  the  other  on  her  low-quarter, 

Swinging  full  front  at  their  ease,  they  poured  in 
their  raking  volleys. 

Yet  so  fierce  the  fire  of  her  bow  that  the  Cherub 
gave  way  and  sailed  round  her, 
29 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Joining  the  Phebe  aft,  off  stern  thundering  alter- 
nate. 

Grim  against  awful  odds,  with  never  a  thought  of 
surrender, 

Chained  to  a  stake  and  broken  fought  our  glorious 
Essex; 

Grape-shot  streaming  along  her  deck  from  capstan 
to  bowsprit, 

Roundshot  tearing  her  vitals,  woodwork  and  man- 
flesh  together. 

Once  and  again  she  strove  to  work  round,  but  the 
cables  were  severed. 

Dead  to  all  use  lay  her  bow,  her  batteries  idle  and 
silent ; 

Only  a  patch  of  space  aft  to  bear  all  the  brunt  of 
the  battle. 

Rearward  they  trailed  the  long  guns  through  flail- 
like  smiting  and  splintering, 

Thrust  their  grim  lips  over  bulwarks,  crashed  them 
through  window  and  planking — 

All  there  was  room  for — and  served  them,  drove 
their  hard  message  so  surely, 

That  both  her  assailants,  outfoughten,  weighed  an- 
chor, turned  helm  and  went  seaward; 

While  all  the  dark  cloud  of  the  hillside,  where  a 
nation  was  watching,  gave  echo, 

In  a  murmur  deep-voiced  of  great  wonder  to  the 
cheers  that  went  up  from  the  Essex. 

But  battle  anew  was  before  her,  where  plume-torn 
she  lay  and  wing-broken. 
30 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Craftily,  strong  from  their  healing,  secure  in  their 

range  and  the  distance, 
Hovered  the  broad  sails  of  Britain,  with  long  stroke 

of  missile  down  plunging. 
Porter  writhed   inly  and  muttered:     "They  shun 

us;  'tis  time  that  we  seek  them." 
So  cutting  her  cable  and  spreading  such  sail  as  she 

might  the  brave  Essex 
Reeled  to  a  deadlier  grapple  and  poured  all  her 

anger  before  her. 

One  by  one  now  the  light  pieces  woke  and  joined 
cry  and  sped  answer 

From  port  and  from  deck  and  from  maintop,  with 
shot  and  with  shell  and  keen  shrapnel. 

Eighty  guns  centering  on  forty  and  cross-drive  of 
musketry  fearful! 

On  through  that  focus  terrific,  momently  bitterer, 
intenser, 

Like  a  grim  soul  the  torn  Essex  went  with  all  tor- 
ment unswerving. 

Swathed  in  the  dusk  robe  of  war,  deeds  as  of  old 

time  were  doing. 
Shrank  but  one  man  from  his  gun  and  he  heard  his 

death  doom  on  the  instant. 
Nobler,  when  Wilmer  was  slain,  bolt-torn  afar  and 

forever, 
Sped  to  the  side  his  young  lad,  follower  loving  and 

faithful — 
Follower  now  unto  death — leaned  and  peered  down 

and  swayed  over, 

31 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


White-faced,  with  eye  of  despair  and  outpour  of 
agony  shrilling; 

The  tumult  around  him  forgotten  the  tempest  of 
iron  and  the  terror. 

Gone  the  vistas  of  youth  the  glories  of  life  out- 
reaching, 

Gone,  gone  with  the  dead ! — and  he  leaped  and  died 
with  his  master. 

Ah !  'twas  an  hour  of  stress  when  the  hero-heart  of 
our  people 

Stood  out  naked  and  strong,  burgeoned  out  sav- 
agely, proudly, 

A  birthright  vehement  force,  elemental  needing  no 
cerements, 

While  through  the  ruin  and  wreck,  bleeding,  be- 
strewn and  outnumbered, 

Crawled  with  set  teeth  and  strong  heart  the  shat- 
tered, the  riven  Essex. 

Onset  unfruitful,  they  fled  her,  the  islanders  pru- 
dent and  chary 

(Two  to  one  had  they  stood,  till  the  breath  of 
Tophet  was  on  them)  ; 

Whirling  away  beyond  reach,  they  drove  in  their 
fire  as  they  listed. 

Groaned  in  wrath  and  despair  the  fate-environed 

commander ; 
Yelled  their  savager  scorn  his  tortured  sons  of  the 

ocean, 

32 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Smitten  and  torn  from  afar  by  those  who  abode  not 

the  closing. 
"This  is  but  death  for  us  all,"  quoth  Porter,  heavy 

of  spirit, 
"Death  with  no  power  to  repay,  death  man  by  man 

and  by  inches! 
Fair  is  the  wind  for  the  shore ;  let  us  land  and  put 

fire  to  the  Essex. 
Many  a  sea  has  she  sailed,  but  now  is  an  end  of 

her  sailing." 


Therefore  she  turned   her  prow  landward  before 

light  breezes, 

While  over  her  double  foe  hurrying,  harrying  fol- 
lowed, 
Greedy  of  spoil  that  the  sea  or  the  waste  of  the 

air  should  deny  them. 
Till  they  felt  sharp  play  on  their  hulls  though  her 

stroke  was  the  stroke  of  the  dying. 
Again  as  by  hostile  hand  was  the  scale  o'erweighted 

against  her. 
Off  shore  veered  the  wind,  thrusting  her  groaning 

toward  them. 
There  in  the  drive  of  the  iron,  the  shower  of  blood 

and  of  splinters, 
Aching  at  heart,  she  heaved  her  last  anchor  and 

doggedly  waited. 


Sturdily  then   from  the  shore,   heeding  no  outcry 
of  missiles, 

33 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Came  through  the  fountaining  spray  Downes  the 

Lieutenant  undaunted, 
Scaled  her  ruinous  side  and  mournfully  greeted  her 

captain. 
"Glorious  days  have  we  known,  but  now  they  are 

ended  and  over. 
It  is  but  right  I  should  share  her  fate  who  have 

shared  in  her  glory. 
Yonder  I  leave  in  safe  hands  the  prize  that  you  gave 

me  to  care  for. 
Let  me  then  fire  the  last  gun  and  let  me  go  down 

with  the  Essex." 


Porter  held   forth   his  hand;   stanchly  and   kindly 

made  answer. 
"Woful  return  would  that  be  for  service  supreme 

and  unfailing, 
Service  not  ended  as  yet,  more  helpful  than  death 

and  as  worthy. 
Had  there  indeed  been  hands  that  were  safe  as  your 

own  for  that  treasure — 
Neat  little  craft  that  she  is,  made  but  to  carry  our 

pennon ! — 
They  should  have  had  her,  be  sure,  and  I  should 

have  had  you  to  aid  me. 
Warily  go  to  her  now;   trust   not   in   scruple  or 

promise  ; 
Learn  by  my  fate;  and  most  lightly  slip  by  them 

while  yoked  in  the  battle. 
So  shall  you  waken  new  havoc,  swift-winging  the 

face  of  the  ocean." 

34 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Bravely  smiling  he  ceased  and  Downes  with  like 
visage  made  answer: 

"I  will  obey,  as  indeed  alway  has  been  my  endeavor. 

Yet  here  is  the  one  whom  I  love  and  this  is  the 
hour  of  her  dying: 

Here  my  commander  and  friend,  and  now  he  has 
bidden  me  leave  him." 

So  they  wrung  hands  in  the  storm  and  he  clam- 
bered down  and  departed. 

Porter  gazed  after  him  fondly;  roused  then  and 
spoke  to  his  people. 

"Gone  are  the  boats  where  the  ship,  I  doubt  not, 
will  speedily  follow, 

Staved  and  sown  all  abroad,  the  sport  of  the  wind 
and  the  waters, 

Or  sunk  to  unsearchable  depths ;  but  those  who  can 
swim  may  win  safety. 

Overboard  all  who  will !  You  have  done  to  the  ut- 
most your  duty." 

Then   some   took   the   plunge    for   the   shore,    and 

gained  it  with  jubilant  welcome, 
Or  midway  flung  wide  arms,  by  sea-monster  torn  or 

bolt-smitten. 
But  most,  with  desperate  heart  abode  by  their  flag 

and  commander. 

Again  was  her  cable  cut  and  the  wind  in  Tantalus- 
kindness 

Took  her  one  sail  aloft,  straining  the  one  rope  un- 
severed, 

35 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Urging  her  forth  to  her  foes,  lubberly,  slantingly, 
wallowing, 

Horribly  raked  their  fire  beyond  all  power  of  re- 
sistance. 

Flamed  her  deck  at  the  stern;  flamed  it  amidship 
and  forward. 

Flew  her  bow  into  fragments;  the  ocean  lapped 
through  it  foredooming. 


Still    from    the    slaughter    and    death-heaps    faces 

looked  hungrily  onward, 
Gaunt  and   death-grim   faces,   frantic  to  come   at 

their  foemen, 
Still  with  a  hoarse  glad  cry  answered  the  summons 

for  boarders. 
On  in  the  teeth  of  the  hell-blast  freighted  with  dead 

and   with   dying, 
Driving  the  war-sloop  afar,  heading  her  full   for 

the  frigate, 
Drifted   rather  than  drove  the  vengeful  wreck  of 

the  Essex. 


Hillyer,  the  warily  minded,  took  counsel  again  and 

abode  not, 
Shrank  from  the  fiend  he  had  raised,  the  spectre 

bleeding  and  flaming, 
Paused  but  a  moment  to  roar,   then   fled   from  a 

passion  of  curses; 
Turning  afar  as  of  old,  while  the  wreck  swung 

round  and  made  answer. 

36 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Hideous  the  carnage  still,  the  air  all  howling  with 
ruin. 

Fifteen  men  at  a  gun  and  every  man  of  them  smit- 
ten! 

Fifteen  more  in  their  stead! — and  again  the  besom 
swept  them 

And  yet  again  was  it  manned  and  faithfully  served 
without  flinching. 

Full  half  the  side  beaten  through  and  clinging  in 
tatters  together, 

Braced  and  battened  by  hands  which  were  stricken 
to  death  in  that  healing. 

Angry  the  rush  of  the  sea  brief-thwarted  at  rag- 
gedest  portals, 

Bitter  the  drive  of  the  stormbolts,  incessant  the 
crashing  and  splashing. 

Each  time  a  life  for  the  lives  of  their  comrades  be- 
loved and  their  leader. 

Each  time  a  life  for  the  lives,  till  one  only  was  left 
on  the  altar. 

Over  the  storm-racked  wall  he  slung  his  spidery 

web- work, 
Striving  with  weary  zeal  to  stanch  what  was  past 

all  stanching; 
Salient  to  hostile  sight,  dark-limned  on  the  hull  and 

unshielded : 
Till  out  of  the  fury  a  stroke  severed  the  line  that 

upbore  him, 
And  headlong  with  sudden  cry  he  plunged,  he  sank 

in  the  ocean: 

37 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Rose  and  struck  out  and  was  saved,  then,  stagger- 
ing, went  to  his  duty. 

More  fiercely  rose  the  flames,  wild  and  more  wild 
the  outcrying. 

Wardroom  and  berth  deck  and  cockpit  crammed 
with  the  wounded  in  peril. 

Menace  of  shattering  steel  that  slew  in  the  hand  of 
the  surgeon! 

Menace  of  rushing  seas,  with  never  a  man  to  op- 
pose them. 

Menace  of  billowy  smoke  of  lambent  flame — and 
the  powder. 

Suddenly  through  the  deck  uptore  a  bursting  vol- 
cano, 

Hurling  men  at  full  length,  sowing  the  firebrands 
widely ; 

Sowing  horror  as  well  of  a  grander  and  deadlier 
upspringing. 

"Every  man  to  the  fire  or  we  all  go  heavenward 
together!" 

Down  to  that  inner  hell,  Captain  and  seaman,  they 
hurried. 

Swarming,  stifling  and  struggling,  thrilled  with  their 
horrible  peril, 

They  fought  for  the  thin  light  shell  casing  the 
powers  of  destruction; 

Beat  down  the  rush  of  the  fire  while  the  balls  tore 
momently  through  them; 

Each  a  herald  of  death,  flame-ally  of  wildest  up- 
heaval. 

38 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


O  never  since  dawning  of  time   were  men  more 

grimly  environed 
Nor  fought  a  ghastlier  fight  than  the  cabined  crew 

of  the  Essex. 

Doggedly  fought  they  on  till  the  terror  gave  way 

to  their  striving, 
Beaten  out  black  and  cold:  and  unstirred  lay  the 

mass  of  the  powder. 
Then   to   the   guns  again,    and   they   opened   their 

futile  firing. 

But  now  on  every  side  arose  the  prayer  for  sur- 
render. 

Soon  must  they  plumb  the  abyss  and  then  what  hope 
for  the  wounded? 

Cumbering  all  the  ship  they  lay  and  their  plight 
was  appalling. 

Dolefully  Porter  called  his  captains  of  decks  and  of 
cannon. 

One  responded  alone,  for  all  beside  him  had  van- 
ished— 

Either  dashed  to  the  sea,  or  slain  where  they  stood, 
or  left  lying 

Helpless  in  blood  and  in  pain,  while  the  riot  mad- 
dened above  them. 

Bitterly  then  he  laughed:  "There  would  seem 
scant  room  for  my  choosing, 

Boats  gone,  mast  gone,  sails  gone,  men  gone,  six 
guns  against  forty! 

39 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Sinking  at  that  and  scarce  saved  from  wild  flight 

on  the  wings  of  the  powder! 
Never,  I  think,  was  a  hulk  so  riddled  before  and 

left  floating. 
A   hospital   overbrimmed,    a   marvellous   prize    for 

Great  Britain!" 
Slowly,  with  sorrowing  heart,  he  bade  the  colors 

to   flutter 
Down  to  the  shades  of  defeat  and  the  cruise  of  the 

Essex  was  ended. 

[Note]  Mouina's  portrait  will  be  found  opposite  page 
32  of  Vol.  2  of  Porter's  "Journal  of  a  Cruise,  etc.,  in 
the  years  1812,  1813  and  1814,"  which  work  supplies  many 
of  the  data  of  this  poem. 


40 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


THE  QUAKERESS 
Massachusetts  A.  D.  1660 

I,  ELIAKIM,  take  up  here  against  you 

Testimony  of  the  Lord  our  God 
He  who  guided,  guarded  you  and  fenced  you 

Comes  to  greet  you  with  a  fiery  rod. 
As  I  break  this  bottle  on  the  altar, 

Cruel  rulers  He  will  break  your  sway. 
Priests  of  evil,  men  of  scourge  and  halter, 

Who  shall  shield  you  in  His  awful  day? 

In  the  name  of  Christ  I  charge  you  hear  me, 

By  the  stripes  He  bore  and  I  do  bear! 
Lo  these  eyes  have  seen  the  glory  near  me; 

Seen  and  felt  the  terror  and  the  glare! 
We  did  come  to  you  in  loving  mildness: 

Ye  have  sown  our  blood  like  summer  rain. 
Those  are  coming  in  a  ghastly  wildness 

Who  shall  reap  and  bind  His  bitter  grain. 

For  our  solace  in  the  day  of  scorning, 

There  was  one  whom  Satan  might  have  spared. 
Comely  as  the  mayflower  child  of  morning; 

Meekly  wise  of  brow  and  hazel  haired: 
Soft  of  tint  and  smooth  of  voice  and  motion, 

Ever  smiling  with  an  inward  glee: — 
Dreamful  eyes  afire  with  pure  devotion! 

Modest  maiden  heart  that  would  be  free. 
41 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


She  was  mine,  my  daughter,  and  I  love  her 

As  I  loved  her  then ;  but  could  not  save. 
Evil  eyes  hung  greedily  above  her; 

Fangs  were  reared  more  cruel  than  the  grave. 
Tn  my  daily  walk  I  met  Oppression; 

In  my  home  I  felt  the  tightening  toils. 
Dire  the  burden ! — and  for  no  transgression ; 

While  your  priesthood  fattened  on  my  spoils. 

So  at  last  she  sought  your  Sodom-city, 

Saying:  "Peradventure  I  shall  find 
Hearts  to  aid  for  righteousness  and  pity, 

Blind  not  wholly  trooping  with  the  blind." 
For  her  tender  heart  ye  gave  her  sorrow ; 

For  her  tender  form  a  bed  of  stone ; 
Dungeon  fare;  the  terror  of  to-morrow, 

With  its  whitening  shame  and  piteous  moan. 

O  my  Deborah ! — from  that  place  she  brought  me 

Not  again  her  olden  self  and  glee; 
But  with  still  and  awful  face  besought  me 

From  the  coming  wrath  to  haste  and  flee. 
Set  her  eyes  were  with  an  inward  vision 

As  of  one  who  saw  in  all  the  same ; 
And  her  speech  was  seer-like  in  elision, 

With  a  power  to  stir  like  sudden  flame. 

Oft  she  spake  of  her  the  saintly  mother, 
Grimly  sentenced  by  your  man  of  blood, 

Meekly  praying  for  that  wandering  brother, 
Though  the  soil  was  reddened  where  she  stood: 

And  of  her  whose  shieldless  bosom  nestled 
42 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


On  the  knotty  bark  and  splinters  dire: 
And  of  all  whose  shame  and  torment  wrestled 
As   the  scourge   cart   trailed   them   through   the 
mire. 

And  of  martyred  men,  whose  voices  faltered 

Soundless  in  the  uproar  of  the  drum ; 
While  a  woman  on  the  scaffold,  haltered, 

Face  to  face  with  death  and  bound  and  dumb, 
Watched  the  awful  manner  of  their  dying, 

Girt  with  weapons  and  with  priestly  mirth, 
Saw  in  noisome  pit  'their  bodies  lying 

Coffinless,  unclad  and  flung  to  earth. 

Ah,  New  England,  highest  in  profession, 

Lowest  in  the  utter  lapse  of  grace! 
What — thou  miracle  of  all  transgression — 

Hast  thou  done  before  thy  Maker's  face? 
Lo,  thy  worship  is  abomination; 

And  thy  praises  are  blaspheming  pride ; 
Thou  hast  torn  thy  Saviour  from  His  station; 

Thou  hast  pierced  anew  His  bleeding  side. 

Yet  I  lingered.     On  a  lovely  morning 

When  the  checkered  mountains  shone  afar 
And  the  groves  in  all  their  rich  adorning 

Made  the  summer  land  as  Edens  are, 
Came  a  threatful  summons  from  the  village, 

Blighting  all  the  glory  of  the  sun, 
And  I  left  my  home  and  happy  tillage 

All  I  loved  and  all  that  must  be  done. 
43 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Ah,  a  direr  husbandry  was  waiting! 

God  had  need  of  me — and  so  had  they. 
Yet  I  rendered  them  but  love  for  hating 

Till  the  fearful  dealing  of  that  day. 
In  their  tavern  court,  as  wont,  I  found  them, 

Den  of  riot,  mockery  and  woe. 
"Friend,  art  Quaker?"  queried  all  around  them; 

And   I   answered  gravely:   "Even  so." 

More  I  said  not;  for  my  lips  were  sealed, 

And  no  warrant  for  their  opening  came. 
Patient,  motionless,  I  heard  revealed 

Doom  of  hissing  scourge  and  branding  flame. 
Then  there  fell  a  hush,  and  through  the  curtain 

That  had  settled  on  my  soul  and  sight, 
Loomed  a  solemn  presence  and  uncertain, 

Like  a  regnant  mystery  of  night. 

It  was  Deborah's  voice:     "He  sends  me  shrouded 

In  this  outer  blackness  for  a  sign: — 
Hearts  perverse  and  evil-wrapped  and  clouded, 

Souls  at  enmity  with  things  divine! 
Lo  I  warn  you  to  forsake  your  error, 

Turn  your  hearts  to  righteousness  and  ruth, 
Ere  I  come  to  you  in  all  the  terror 

Of  the  merciless  and  naked  truth." 

Thus  she  spake:  and  stood  there  tall  and  stately 
In  her  solemn  robe  without  a  word. 

And  I  heard  them  murmur:  "How  sedately 
Came  the  message  from  the  comely  bird! 

It  were  wise  to  put  her  to  the  showing." 
44 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


And  the  judges  said :    "We  deem  it  well — 
'Merciless  and  naked';  and  foreknowing! — 
Search  for  devil-marks  the  child  of  Hell." 


Then  they  led  her  forth;  and  left  me  standing 

With  a  heart  that  broke  in  words  of  fire. 
But  they  mocked  and  sent  me  to  the  branding 

And  the  hideous  lash  that  tortures  dire. 
Step  by  step  their  minion  took  his  measure, 

Throwing  weight  and  zeal  in  every  blow; 
But  through  all  I  seemed  to  see  my  treasure 

In  her  whitening  shame  of  direr  woe. 

For  I  knew  too  well  their  wicked  meaning. 

On  the  morrow  she  would  know  and  feel. 
And  my  soul  was  like  a  ship  careening 

When  the  heavens  are  one  vast  thunder  peal. 
All  the  night   I  walked   the  awful  forest; 

All  the  day  I  trod  the  vacant  lands; 
Crying  without  ceasing:  "Thou  abhorrest: 

Take  my  vengeance  in  Thy  fearful  hands." 

And  the  Lord  of  Light  and  King  of  Glory 

Verily  He  heard ;  for  when  the  spire 
Burned  aloft,  and  story  after  story 

All  the  western  windows  took  on  fire 
Came  a  voice:  "Return  and  see!" — and  grimly 

Went  I  backward  through  the  gathering  gloom 
And   I   felt  the  shadows  trooping  dimly 

And  the  marshalled  legions  of  the  tomb. 
45 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


In  their  meeting  all  was  light  for  seeing, 

All  was  darkness  for  the  inner  soul. 
And  there  came  a  sound  of  wings  afleeing 

And  a  roar  like  waters  as  they  roll. 
Then  the  wall  was  seized  with  sudden  shaking, 

And  the  door  drave  inward  with  the  blast, 
And  amid  the  flaring  and  the  quaking 

I  beheld  my  Deborah  at  last. 

Deborah  my  darling! — mine  no  longer 

But  a  missioned  angel  of  the  Lord! 
For  her  arm  rose  wildlier  and  stronger 

Than  the  wielder  of  the  fiery  sword. 
For  His  power  upreared  her  form  and  filled  it 

To  her  streaming  aureole   of  hair; 
And  the  terror  of  His  beauty  thrilled  it 

Breaking  from  her  eyes  in  lightning  glare. 

And  the  very  lightning  darted  by  her 

With  the  blinding  drapery  of  the  storm, 
And  the  lambent  dance  of  shadows  nigh  her 

Robed  in  mystery  her  lovely  form. 
But  through  all  the  darting  and  the  flashing 

Limb  and  bosom  glimmered  like  a  dream ; 
And  amid  the  pauses  of  the  crashing 

Rose  the  grandeur  of  her  voice  supreme. 

"Once  I  came  to  you  in  robes  of  warning: 
Now  I  come  to  you  in  burning  fire. 

Ye  have  stripped  me  for  your  sin  and  scorning ; 
God  hath  granted  me  His  own  attire. 

Lo,  His  terror  hath  He  sent  before  me; 

46 


Legends  of  the  New   World 


And  His  vengeance  is  about  me  now! 
Wail: — He  heeds  not,  for  His  hand  is  o'er  me, 
And  His  wrath  is  written  on  my  brow." 

Then  at  once  there  rose  a  mighty  crying: — 

"Lo  the  Truth,  the  Truth  of  God  is  here!" 
From  without  there  came  in  swift  replying 

All  unearthly  tones  of  hate  and  fear. 
Broke  the  storm ;  and  with  a  ghastlier  breaking 

Broke  the  surges  of  a  hideous  foe; 
All  the  revelry  of  malice  waking! 

All  the  hell-fire  bursting  from  below! 


Deborah  vanished;  but  indeed  I  know  not 

Whether  slain  or  borne  by  God  afar: 
For  the  morrow's  sun  looked  in  to  show  not 

Aught  but  wrecks  and  ravages  of  war. 
By  the  smoking  housewalls  of  the  village 

Scalpless  forms  and  mutilate  were  strewn  ; 
In  the  chaos  of  the  pulpit-pillage 

Lay  the  lying  priest  asunder  hewn. 

I  alone  am  spared,  as  a  forerunning 

Shadow  of  the  fury  of  the  sky. 
It  shall  smite  you  with  a  sudden  stunning; 

It  shall  whirl  you  as  the  dead  leaves  fly. 
Cruel  hearts  like  bitter  waters  frozen 

Ye  shall  be  as  soft  as  miry  clay. 
Ye  shall  be  a  curse  unto  my  chosen 

Souls  that  mocked  and  made  of  them  a  prey. 
47 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Under  you  the  worm  shall  be  and  o'er  you ; 

Through  your  hollow  eyes  the  viper  stare ; 
And  the  loathliest  thing  that  crawls  before  you 

Weave  foul  meshes  in  your  tangled  hair. 
From  the  Book  of  Life  your  names  are  missing. 

Howling  on  the  wind  your  spirits  flee ; 
Evermore  a  scoffing  and  a  hissing: 

For  the  Lord  hath  spoken — it  shall  be. 

[Note]  Many  of  the  denunciations  and  specific  changes 
of  Eliakim  in  this  poem  repeat  or  approximate  those  of 
Bishop's  old  work  "New  England  Judged." 


Legends  of  the  Neiv  World 


THE   BOOK   OF   DEATH 

A   NIGHTMARE   OF   WITCHCRAFT  DAYS 

IN  the  days  when  Salem  went  wild  with  terror, 

With  the  eyes  of  Balaam  in  every  face 
Which  felt,  but  saw  not,  the  Sons  of  Error, 

The  forms  that  awe  not,  but  blast,  our  race: 
When  wizard  fingers  by  night  were  clinging, 

And  pain  that  lingers  was  dealt  by  day, 
And  with  mock  and  mowing  they  came,  wild  wing- 
ing, 

The  soul  o'erthrowing  that  strove  to  pray: 
When  sin  unbidden  loomed  up  before  me, 

And  shame,  long  hidden,  had  felt  their  breath, 
And  the  curse  of  ages  seemed  hovering  o'er  me — 

I  tore  the  pages  from  the  Book  of  Death. 

The  day  was  ending,  the  night  was  falling 

With  faint  lights  blending  along  the  west, 
When  from  their  embers  a  flight  appalling, 

My  soul  remembers,  assailed  my  rest. 
With  pain  and  tossing  my  frame  was  weary, 

My  heart  with  crossing  and  hope  deferred. 
I  drank  the  glimmer  of  twilight  dreary; 

My  soul  grew  dimmer;  I  spoke  the  word. — 
The  word  they  taught  me  in  evil  dreaming, 

That  well  nigh  brought  me  to  be  their  prize  ; 
And  straightway  round  me  I  felt  them  streaming 

To  hunt  and  hound  me  with  glinting  eyes. 

The  evil  creatures  I  saw  half  seeing — 
The  greedy  features,  the  reaching  hands! 
49 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


A  rout  of  darkness  through  darkness  fleeing, 

A  braided  starkness  of  living  strands! 
And  while  their  spinning  grew  fast  and  faster 

And  jeers  were  dinning  within  my  brain, 
Slowly  behind  them  their  shadowy  master 

Loomed  up  to  wind  them  through  soul  and  vein. 
A  crowned  towering  of  formless  terror, 

A  dim  outflowing  of  all  that's  ill! 
In  wild  careening — the  prince  of  Error ! — 

I  felt  the  leaning  of  his  mighty  will. 

Like  woven  lightning  the  circling  glances 

With  lariat-tightening  about  me  drew, 
With  feigned  retirals  and  slant  advances 

The  lessening  spirals  upon  me  flew. 
Now  swooping,  shunning,  each  gibing  masquer 

My  life  was  stunning  through  eye  and  ear 
With  horrid  longing  and  thoughts  grotesquer 

Than  aught  that's  thronging  the  courts  of  Fear. 
And  through  the  chaos  that  seemed  to  madden 

With  forms  of  Laos  to  daunt  my  soul, 
Towering  o'er  me,  the  great  Abaddon 

Held  down  before  me  his  haunted  scroll. 

Like  mist  the  pages  but  linked  and  fettered 

By  wrath  of  ages  and  spells  malign; 
And  all  their  dimness  was  livid-lettered; 

And  through  that  grimness  the  mandate:  "Sign." 
In  dread  recording  I  read  uprisen 

For  foul  rewarding  the  evil  past. 
Each  shameful  sorrow  had  burst  its  prison, 

On  all  to-morrow  its  spell  to  cast. 
50 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Each  midnight  glamour  of  thought  unholy! 

Each  twilight  tremor  of  demon  birth! — 
And  more  I  may  not;  but  deepening  slowly 

Were  lines  that  slay  not  but  blast  on  earth. 


My  soul's  abysses  were  wildly  wreathing 

With  forms  and  hisses  that  claimed  me  kin, 
And  through  and  through  me  I  felt  the  breathing 

Of  him  who  knew  me,  the  Lord  of  Sin. 
My  hand  uplifting,  in  will-less  motion, 

Before  the  shifting  of  filmy  leaves, 
Swerved  to  the  signing,  as  o'er  the  ocean 

In  wayward  lining  the  wind-plume  weaves. 
No  hand  from  Heaven  outreached  to  aid  me ; 

No  cloud  was  riven  by  angel  breath ; 
But  a  sudden  waking  of  terror  swayed  me; 

I  tore,  wild-shaking,  the  Leaves  of  Death. 


I  seized  and  tore  them  with  blind  outreaching; 

While  round  and  o'er  them  the  chaos  flew; 
Then  vanished  straightway  with  eerie  screeching, 

The  viewless  gateway  had  closed  anew. 
Yet  lingered  threatful  in  princely  looming 

The  shade  regretful  and  vast  and  dim. 
The  voice  came  faintly,  and  mocked,  foredooming, 

Which  once  led  saintly  the  seraphim. 
"My  curse  I  leave  you,  the  gift  of  knowing: 

None  shall  deceive  you  while  power  is  mine. 
Seek  thou  the  hidden  the  blackness  flowing, 

Unblest,  unbidden,  from  light  divine." 
51 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Wakeful  it  found  me  the  shining  morrow. 

All  around  me  was  sweet  with  balm. 
The  sunbeam-slanting  had  nought  of  sorrow; 

Nor  the  wildbird   chanting  on   field  and   lawn. 
Then  one  drew  near  me  reverend,  peaceful, 

A  light  to  cheer  me  within  his  eyes 
A  soul  uplifted,  serene  and  easeful, 

Through  cloud-veils  drifted  of  Paradise. 
Oft  had  I  hearkened  his  ministration 

To  spirits  darkened  beneath  the  rod. 
With  surge  of  soul  to  the  near  salvation, 

I  held  the  scroll  to  the  man  of  God. 

O  woful  error! — I  felt  the  blasting 

Of  shame  and  terror  before  he  read, 
In  strange  wild  traces  of  wan  o'er-casting 

Like  the  panic  faces  of  the  stricken  dead. 
Haggard  and  moaning  he  turned  upon  me 

A  soul-dethroning  abhorring  eye: 
"Thine  be  the  glory,  the  Fiend  has  won  me. 

O  wretched  story !    O  God  to  die!" 

Sullen  and  sunken  he  left  me,  creeping, 

A  figure  shrunken  that  blurred  the  day, 
Despair's  dumb  token,  too  numb  for  weeping, 

A  spirit  broken  that  dared  not  pray. 
To  hateful  laughter  I  followed  grimly 

By  homestead  rafter,  by  field  and  lawn, 
Beyond  all  blinding  of  heaven-veils,  dimly 

Softly  enwinding  the  things  withdrawn. 
With  grippen  bosom  forever  clasping 
52 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


The  record  grewsome  the  Leaves  of  Death  ; 
Dismayed,  foreknowing,  all  secrets  grasping, 
I  walked,  all  showing,  a  scorching  breath. 


I  met  the  just  man,  whose  thought  was  spurning 

All  things  that  thrust  man  to  lower  place: 
And  straightway  paling  in  self  discerning 

With  low  bewailing,  he  bowed  his  face. 
The  mother  heedful  in  matron  smiling, 

Who  wrought  the  needful  in  ways  that  shone, 
In  mute  appealing  from  all  reviling 

Went    blindly    reeling   and    overthrown. 
The  martyr  saintly  his  doom  awaiting 

Answered  me  faintly  before  the  host: 
"My  godly  seeming  hid  prideful  hating 

Foully  blaspheming  the  Holy  Ghost." 


The  eyes  of  all  men  were  set  abhorrent. 

I  dared  not  call  men  my  living  kin. 
Mine  was  the  blasting  of  the  fiery  torrent, 

For  everlasting  the  sight  of  Sin. 
One  and  one  only  held  heart  to  love  me 

Moaning  lonely  along  the  waste; 
That  heart  the  purest  and  high  above  me, 

Her  vision  surest,  divinely  graced. 
Yet  still  I  doubted  where  all  had  failed  me 

And  shadows  flouted  and  tempters  dared. 
"Essay  the  testing,"  they  still  assailed  me, 

"The  sure  outwresting  of  sin  ensnared." 
53 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Shrinking  yet  spurning,  'twixt  faith  and  fearing, 

I  felt  the  yearning  of  the  livid  book: — 
Its  eager  thrilling  the  quarry  nearing, 

Its  wizard  willing  that  bade  me:    "Look." 
When  down  of  May-time,  through  soft  air  sowing, 

Brightened  the  day-time  with  fairy  snow, 
I  found  her  under  the  leaflets'  blowing, 

In  loving  wonder  at  all  below. 
A  stream  went  by  her  with  silver  tinkling; 

On  flowerets  nigh  her  she  would  not  tread 
Aloft,  green-golden,  were  wild-birds  twinkling. 

There,  grimly  holden,  I  brought  my  dread. 

She  met  my  clouding  with  trustful  glances, 

My  doubt  enshrouding  with  words  of  cheer; 
Her  smile  of  sunlight  that  all  enhances 

Proffered  the  one  light  that  baffles  fear. 
But  through  its  rareness  in  fore-revealing, 

I  felt  the  bareness  of  blanching  fright, 
The  gleam  elysian  the  fond  appealing 

Became  a  vision  of  foulest  night. 
I  fled  the  probing  of  soul-depths  chasmal, 

My  heart  grim-robing  the  fancied  ill, 
Yet,  unbeguiling,  through  forms  phantasmal, 

Pitying,  smiling,  I  saw  her  still. 

I  bade  the  desert,  the  mountains,  hide  me; 

I  sought  the  floodland  the  thicket  lone. 
The  grey  wolf,  lurking,  has  crouched  beside  me, 

The  storm,  wild-working,  has  found  me  prone. 
I  may  not,  dare  not — in  covert  biding — 
54 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Seek  those  who  share  not  my  dismal  lore; 
Nor  wreak  the  trial  on  her,  confiding, 

Of  wrath's  dread  vial  forevermore. 
My  eyes  are  feeding  on  scorching  pages; 

My  heart  is  bleeding,  I  long  to  flee: — 
O  in  the  flowing  of  countless  ages 

To  cease  from  knowing  or  cease  to  be! 


55 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


THE  STORY  OF  ALVAR 

HE  came  in  the  light  of  golden  hours 

From  a  world  of  crime  to  the  land  of  flowers! 

Worn  and  weary  with  strife  and  greed, 

Sick  at  heart  with  their  hollow  meed, 

Battered  in  limb  and  seared  in  soul, 

Bowed,  yet  far  from  the  midlife  goal, 

Feeling  ever  the  red  blood  spilt, 

Bayed  and  haunted  by  hounds  of  guilt, 

Bayed  and  harried  by  spectral  fears 

Of  a  shadow  speeding  with  speeding  years, 

Of  a  terror  streaming  with  streaming  hours, 

He  came  in  his  need  to  the  land  of  flowers. 

Earth  saw  never  a  stranger  crew 
Than  grey  de  Leon  about  him  drew. 
Awful  figures  of  human  wreck 
Peered  and  strained  from  his  rushing  deck, 
With  eyes  that  boded  no  good  to  man 
In  the  life  that  yearned  for  a  longer  spam- 
Fearful  life  which  they  knew  right  well 
Had  less  of  earth  than  the  nether  Hell! — 
Fleeting  life  that  was  yet  agleam 
With  the  tempting  hues  of  a  magic  dream : — 
A  dream  too  lovely  for  human  birth, 
The  rarest  fancy  of  royal  earth. 

But  it  was  not  given  the  Lion  of  Spain 
To  win  the  guerdon  of  youth  again, 
With  all  the  glories  that  still  abide, 
To  the  eyes  of  Age  in  a  life's  springtide: 
For  the  foe  stood  firm  on  the  flowery  shore; 
56 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


And  the  shafts  flew  thick  and  the  spear  drove  sore; 

Till  he  sank  in  blood  on  his  riven  glaive; 

And  they  turned  the  prow  to  the  open  wave, 

Leaving  only  a  curse  behind 

That  shrilled  afar  on  the  western  wind ; — 

A  curse — and  a  comrade  loth  to  flee 

From  his  only  hope  in  the  years  to  be. 

First  to  leap  on  the  shining  sand 
Alvar  had  pierced  the  bronzed  band, 
For  the  olden  power  was  in  his  blow 
The  beckoning  hope  and  the  driving  woe: 
They  shrank  aghast  from  his  frenzied  face 
And  never  a  limb  was  stirred  in  chase. 

But  the  woods  were  wide  as  the  prairies  are 
And  the  island-hummocks  were  few  and  far; 
And  the  deadly  beauty  of  poison-foes 
Coiled  in  the  swamp  that  the  cypress  knows; 
And  the  lake's  fair  garden  of  painted  leaves 
Blended  with  mazes  the  marish  weaves ; 
And  the  river  the  rare  magnolia  shades 
Was   lost  to  life   in   the   everglades. 
A  world  of  splendor  on  turf  and  strand 
On   mingling  water   and   melting   land! 
A  splendor  armed  with  a  taunting  sting, 
For  he  sought  in  vain  for  the  magic  spring ! 

Gasping  and  gaunt  in  the  noon  he  lay 
Where  vines  like  banners  were  all  asway, 
And   under   the  live-oak's  leafy  cloud 
The  long  moss  hung  in  a  filmy  shroud. 
He  looked  on  the  mounds  of  regal  hue 
And  the  turf  aspangle  with  gold  and  blue, 
57 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


And  his  heart  within  gave  a  yearning  cry — 
"With  so  much  beauty,  can  man  but  die?" 
And  he  closed  his  eyes  on  the  bitter  pain 
Of  a  life  he  never  might  live  again. 

He  woke  in  the  lap  of  a  light  canoe, 
That  sped  like  wind  o'er  the  water  blue, 
With  a  living  freight  that  he  well  might  deem 
The  flitting  forms  of  a  sunny  dream: — 
Rare  of  beauty,  in  garb  as  rare, 
Fair  as  the  eastland  maids  are  fair, 
But  with  something  wildly  and  sweetly  strange 
In  the  clear  fine  skin  and  the  eye's  free  range; 
With  something  sweetly  and  strangely  wild 
In  the  arch  kind  gaze,  like  a  loving  child. 
And  he  looked  abroad  on  the  mighty  lake  * 

1  "The  river  St.  Mary  has  its  source  from  a  vast  lake 
which  occupies  a  space  of  near  three  hundred  miles  in 
circuit  and  contains  some  large  islands,  one  of  which 
the  present  generation  of  Creeks  represent  to  be  a  most 
blissful  spot  of  the  earth.  They  say  it  is  inhabited  by 
a  peculiar  race  of  Indians  whose  women  are  incompar- 
ably beautiful.  They  also  say  it  has  been  seen  by  some 
of  their  enterprising  hunters  who  being  lost  in  inex- 
tricable swamps  and  bogs  and  on  the  point  of  perishing 
were  unexpectedly  relieved  by  a  company  of  beautiful 
women,  whom  they  call  daughters  of  the  sun.  These 
hunters  had  a  view  of  their  settlements  on  an  elevated 
island  or  promontory,  in  a  beautiful  lake,  but  in  their 
endeavors  to  approach  it  they  were  involved  in  per- 
petual labyrinths  and  like  enchanted  land,  still  as  they 
imagined  they  had  just  gained  it,  it  seemed  to  fly  before 
them,  alternately  appearing  and  disappearing.  They 
never  have  been  able  to  find  that  enchanting  spot  nor 
even  any  road  to  it."  "Bartram's  Travels,"  1793. 

58 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Whence  four  great  rivers  their  courses  take; 

And  o'er  the  nymphea's  golden  fields 

Of  the  nodding  bells  and  the  swaying  shields 

He  saw  afar  the  plumed  heads 

Of  the  seven  dim  isles  that  the  Indian  dreads. 


Slowly  he  watched  the  wizard  town 

Lift  from  the  wave  its  clusters  brown, 

Bristling  o'er  like  a  flight  of  spears 

With  the  quaint  devices  of  vanished  years, 

Heaped  like  the  cells  of  the  wild  bees'  hive — 

A  thing  of  the  old  world  left  alive! 

Court  and  portal,  and  limb  and  face, 

Had  the  wondrous  youth  of  a  changeless  race. 


Weird  as  death  was  the  sacred  hill 
Reared  by  arms  that  were  living  still, 
Though   the   mystic  symbols  that  girt  its  span 
Have  long  been  lost  to  the  mind  of  man — 
Graven  in  cross  and  curve  and  bar, 
Rayed  like  the  rays  of  a  flashing  star. 
Terrace  on   terrace  slanting  high, 
Keenly  lined  on  the  sunny  sky, 
It   rose   foursquare   to   a   tablet   small 
That  left  but  room  for  the  temple  wall, — 
A  pillared  cavern  of  cool  grey  stone, 
Where  the  vivid  water  throbbed  and  shone, 
Sparkling  and  springing  from  nether  night, 
Filled  with  the  jewels  of  broken  light. 
59 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Down  from  temple  and   fount  and  hill 

Choral  figures  were  winding  still, 

Hymning  the  life  of  a  subtler  world, 

The  myth  and  marvel  in  nature  furled, 

Chanting  afar  with  a  solemn  swell 

The  sacred  power  of  their  holy  well: 

And  he  seemed  to  find  in  every  tone 

Something  an  earlier  life  had  known. 

Clad   like   the  clouds  of  noon   they  came — 

Or  the  ruddy  snow  by  a  leaping  flame — 

Or  the  passive  depth  of  the  open  sea-*- 

Or   the   woodland's    wilding   witchery; 

Never  a  tint  was  lacking  there 

That  gleams  in  water  or  earth  or  air: 

They  moved  with  the  motion  of  boughs  that  sway 

In  the  loving  breath  of  a  summer  day. 

But  never  a  tint  of  earthly  sheen 
Rivals   the   robe  of  the  island   queen, 
Throbbing   and    thrilled    like    the    noonday   sky 
With  threaded  lustres  that  shun  the  eye, 
Clear  as  the  finest  rose  of  pearl, 
That  floats  and  dips  in  the  ocean  whirl, 
With  the  light  of  morn  on  its  filmy  shell — 
And  it  flowed  with  her  like  a  flowing  spell: 
Welcome  as  coming  of  rare  delight! 
Grand  as  the  march  of  the  royal  night ! 

The  wealth  of  ages  gone  and  dead 
Crowned  her  soul  with  a  crown  of  dread; 
But  the  godlike  pity  that  filled  her  eyes 
Was  soft  as  kindly  and  kind  as  wise. 
60 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


A  single  glance  in  those  subtle  springs 
Was  a  world  of  weird  and  timeless  things, 
But  the  early  freshness  of  maiden  grace 
Lay  like  the  dawn  on  her  lovely  face: 
She  shone  with  the  beauty  of  fadeless  flowers 
To  touch  and  brighten  this  world  of  ours. 

Under  the  light  of  her  sunny  glance, 
His  soul  was  hushed  in  a  happy  trance, 
A  breathless  rapture  of  rest  and  ease, 
Like  the  murmured  music  of  forest  trees. 
She  raised  her  hand,  and  the  choral  strain 
Ceased  like  the  ceasing  of  summer  rain; 
She  waved  him  on  to  the  charmed  shore: 
Lightly  they  clasped  him  and  lifted  o'er. 

Long  he  lay  in  a  curtained  cell, 
Drowsing  softly  and  tended  well. 
Dreamy  figures  around  him  glide, 
Dreamy  music  is  at  his  side  ; 
And  still  in  the  utter  lapse  of  thought 
A  gracious  presence  before  him  wrought; 
A   gentle   presence  with   wistful   gaze 
That  burned  within  like  a  searching  blaze : 
Till  he  rose  at  last  in  the  morning  still 
Blithe  of  spirit  and   free  from   ill; 
He  rose,  and  followed  the  stately  mien 
And  the  gliding  step  of  the  island  queen. 

The  sunlight  broke  like  a  burst  of  fire, 
And  with  it  the  voice  of  a  mighty  choir, 
And  in  the  power  of  that  mystic  song 
He  seemed  to  be  lifted  and  borne  along; 
6l 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Till  his  eyes  were  cleared  from  the  dazzling  spell, 
And  he  stood  with  the  queen  by  the  holy  well; 
And  he  saw  her  great  eyes  clear  and  fine 
Shine  through  the  arch  of  the  water's  shine. 
He  leaned  his  lips  to  the  showering  spray, 
And  his  spirit  mounted  like  mounting  day. 

But  the  seeds  of  poison  were  rife  within 

And  the  new  life  throbbed  with  the  birth  of  sin, 

As  the  keener  vision  of  quickened  eyes 

Heightened  his  greed  for  the  wealth  that  dies. 

And  visions  floated  and  darkly  rose 

Of  the  sack  and  slaughter  of  helpless  foes — 

Visions  the  bloody  cross  of  Spain 

Had  sown  in  fire  on  the  western  main — 

Flooding  the  mount  with  the  hues  of  Hell 

Tainting  the  flow  of  the  sacred  well. 

He  bowed  in  glee  for  the  mystic  draught: 
"Life  to  the  Lion!"  he  cried,  and  laughed; 
"Life  to  the  Lion — who  weakly  fled — 
From  me,  most  living,  though  deemed  the  dead! 
Life  and  treasure  and  lustrous  charms 
When  the  lake  is  agleam  with  our  dinted  arms! 
Life  to  the  Lion!" — but  nought  was  there, 
For  the  spray-bloom   shrank   from   the  upper  air, 
As  a  flower  may  shrink  from  the  chill  of  night  ; 
It  danced  far  down  with  a  mocking  light, 
Far  adown  in  the  jagged  cleft! — 
And  he  rose  aghast  like  a  soul  bereft. 
Then  turned  for  aid  to  the  kindlier  sheen 
That  had  brightened  the  eyes  of  the  island  queen. 
62 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


But  the  wistful  gaze  was  sterner  now, 

And  doom  was  written  athwart  her  brow. 

His  one  light  kiss  of  the  living  spray 

Made  her  words  as  clear  as  the  clearest  day. 

"Not  for  the  water  of  life  you  came, 

But  the  bitter  food  of  a  deadly  flame; 

Not  with  the  heart  that  turns  from  ill, 

But  the  craving  greed  of  a  sordid  will; 

Not  to  cancel  the  deeds  accurst, 

But  to  crown  them  all  with  the  last  and  worst. 

Who  loves  not  nature  nor  man  nor  truth 

Quaffs  not  the  fountain  of  endless  youth." 


Bowed  in  spirit  and  faint  and  sore, 
He  wandered  down  to  the  waveless  shore. 
He  stepped  in  the  lap  of  a  light  canoe, 
And  turned,  and  the  island  was  full  in  view. 
Fluttered  and  glimmered  the  fields  of  grain; 
The  orange  blossoms  were  shed  like  rain, 
The  palm  upreared  its  slender  stem, 
The  cactus  burned  with  a  purple  gem, 
And  all  the  splendor  the  sunlands  know 
Was  spread  abroad  in  its  rarest  show. 
But  over  the  cells  of  the  wizard  town 
And  the  graven  hill  with  its  temple-crown, 
His  straining  vision  still  would  dwell 
On  the  dazzling  arch  of  the  taunting  well: 
Sparkling  and  springing  it  rose  to  sight 
Filled  with  the  jewels  of  broken  light. 
Many  a  day  had  had  its  birth 
Since  they  laid  the  Lion  low  in  earth, 
63 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


When  a  stranger  swarthy  and  tall  and  still, 
With  the  settled  calm  of  a  baffled  will, 
Hailed  from  the  shore  of  the  land  of  flowers 
The  floating  flag  of  the  Spanish  powers. 
"Alvar!"  he  said,  and  they  knew  him  then 
For  one  long  lost  to  the  world  of  men. 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


THE  VALE  OF  AVOCA 

A    LEGEND   OF    GEORGE   WASHINGTON 

BY  the  lovely  vale  of  Avoca  the  patriot  leader  lay: 
From  the  lovely  Vale  of  Avoca  he  rode  at  the  death 

of  day: 
And    the   shadows   kept  weaving   before   him   like 

the  snares  that  beset  his  way. 

He  of  the  knightly  soul  and  the  empire-shaking  arm, 
The  will  that  could  hold  forever,  the  wrath  like  a 

midnight  storm, 
The  eyes  that  loved  the  sunshine,   the  heart  that 

was  kind  and  warm. 

At  once  in  the  arch  of  the  woodland  a  figure  seemed 
born  of  the  air, 

Wayward  and  fitfully  troubled,  spirit-like,  mar- 
vellous fair; 

And  the  wind  and  the  sunset  had  given  their  life 
to  the  curls  of  her  hair. 

"Go  not  again  to  Avoca,"  she  warned  with  a  tremor 

of  pain. 
His  calm  grey  eyes  were  on  her,  firm  as  the  hand 

on  the  rein. 
"And   why  not,    child?"   he   asked   her,   searching 

through  eye  and  through  brain. 

"Ah!"  she  cried,  "was  there  ever  such  task  for  a 

motherless  girl? 
What  I  should  do  I  know  not;  for  my  brain  is  all 

in  a  whirl." 

65 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


His  massive  hand   fell  lightly,   stroking  each   ten- 
drilled  curl. 


Gently  he  spoke,  down-gazing:  "If  there  is  truth 
to  be  had, 

It  should  be  here. — Now  tell  me  the  whole  truth, 
good  or  bad. 

Why  should  I  shun  Avoca  and  your  father's  wel- 
come glad?" 


"O,"  she  moaned,  "the  torment  under  the  rain 
and  the  roof! 

The  terror  of  lurking  evil  at  the  sound  of  your  com- 
ing hoof! 

If  you  but  guessed,  you  could  not  urge  me  to  fur- 
ther proof. 


"I  warn  you  truly ;  but  wisdom  will  take  no  warn- 
ing from  me. 

I  cannot  do  more,  I  dare  not." — She  turned  as  in 
act  to  flee. 

"Farewell,  dear  girl!"  he  answered:  "I  thank  you. 
So  let  it  be." 

There  was  life  in  the  Vale  of  Avoca  over  the  festal 

board, 
Glamour  of  gracious  bearing,  mirth  of  a  mind  well 

stored. 

Baits  of  the  Judas  Ettrick,  nursing  his  evil  hoard. 
66 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


At  last  by  door  and  window,  he  saw  the  glimmer 

of  red, 
And  rose  with  a  florid  triumph  masking  an  inner 

dread — 
For  the  calm  grey  eyes  were  on  him.    "My  prisoner, 

sir!"  he  said. 

The  stately  guest,  unshaken,  made  but  a  quiet  sign ; 
And  the  troops  filed  inward,  circling  the  twain  in 

a  bristling  line. 
Calmly  smiling,  he  answered:     "It  seems,  sir,  you 


Scorn  in  his  great  eyes  deepening: — "Arnold  at  least 

was  bold. 
There  was  something  worthy  of  vengeance  when  a 

hero  was  bought  and  sold. 
And  yet,  poor  worm,  you  have  given  your  life  for 

the  British  gold." 

The    sunshine    was    making    gladness    about    the 

guarded  room. 
With  gold  the  lawns  were  studded,  the  apple-boughs 

all  abloom. 
When  one  stole   in   to  the  chieftain,   aghast  at  a 

father's  doom. 

No  woodland  fairy  now,  but  a  winsome  daylight 

maid, 

Driven  by  inner  urgence,  halting  as  half  afraid, 
With  eyes  that  were  mirrors  of  horror  and  form 

that  quivered   and   swayed. 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


"Surely  you  will  not  do  it!"  with  clasping  hands  she 

cried. 

"Did  I  not  come  to  save  you  yonder  at  eventide? — 
You  have  not  heard  the  voices  calling:    'Thou  par- 
ricide!" 

"My   child,"   he  answered,   shaken,    "to   God   you 

should  bend  the  knee. 
The   treason   to  Freedom's   cause   was   more   than 

the  wrong  to  me. 
All  men  will  crave  his  doom,  lest  a  worse  thing 

came  to  be." 

"Worse  than  the  worst  is  this!"  she  cried.    "There 

is  One  who  saith: 

Titter  are  mercy's  tones  for  our  feeble  human  breath 
Than  the  echoless  trumpet-blast  of  the  awful  Angel 

of  Death/ 

"O  I  am  worn  and  broken — I  who  was  once  so  glad ! 
Whichwaysoe'er  I  turn,  my  life  is  a  vista  sad. 
But  make  me  to  slay  my  father? — O  God,  it  will 
drive  me  mad ! 


"Listen,  I  summon  your  honor,  that  never  has  coun- 
selled ill. 

How  will  you  answer  it,  tell  me,  as  the  years  come 
crowding  still? — 

'She  saved  my  life;  and  I  gave  her — her  father's 
blood  to  spill." 

68 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


He  smote  his  fist  on  the  table  that  it  leaped  beside 

his  knee. 
His  face  flashed  out  like  lightning: — "By  God,  it 

shall  not  be!" 
He  laughed:     "Forgive  me,  lady;  but  your  words 

have  set  him   free." 

His  smile  had  a  bitter  savour,  though  his  eyes  were 

in  kindly  play: 
"My  whole  life  has  been  lived  in  the  very  eye  of 

day. 
I  think  I  have  earned  the  right  of  hiding  this  sin 

away. 

"Silence  shall  cover  the  wreck  of  his  life  and  his 
soul  and  his  crime. 

Let  a  new  life  open  before  him  unshamed  in  an- 
other clime. 

And  only  the  name  of  Avoca  shall  pass  to  a  later 
time." 

She  cried:     "Now  the  Lord  be  with  you  for  the 

joy  you  have  brought  to  me! 
May  He  aid  you  and  guard  you  ever,  strong  arm  of 

the  hearts  that  are  free! 
May   He  open   your  eyes  on   the   promise  of   the 

glories  that  yet  shall  be!" 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


ELKIN  HAY 

RAINBOWS  along  the  strand, 

And   white   caps   out   at   sea!— 
And  over  the  gleaming  sand, 
Between  the  waves  and  the  land, 
In  the  setting  sun  rode  he. 

It  had  tangled  its  gold  in  his  hair 

That  the  ocean  breezes  blew; 
Like  the  forms  of  a  finer  air 

The  white-wings  hovered  and  flew; 
And  around  him,  unaware, 

The  world  into  beauty  grew. 
Wild  was  the  life  he  led 

On  that  lonely  strip  of  beach, 
Gleaning  the  spoils  of  the  dead 

And  the  lore  that  the  storm  will  teach 
Till  his  inmost  soul,  they  said, 

Was  weird  as  the  sea-fowl's  screech. 

So,   as  he   rode  alone 

Scenting,  it  seemed,  his  prey 

(For  the  cloudy  pillar  had  grown 
And  the  wind  was  driving  the  spray), 

His  eyes  were  broad  and  bright 

With  the  thought  of  the  coming  night 
And   its  harvest   for   Elkin   Hay. 

Lifted  the  light  from  the  shore, 
Lifted  the  light  from  the  sea ; 
70 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


And  it  freighted  with  golden  ore 

The  clouds  that  were  floating  free: 
And  it  touched  with  an  angry  tinge 
The  long  and  ominous  fringe 

That  was  steadily  sweeping  on, 
Like  a  host  on  a  doomed  town. 

Then  they  faded,  one  by  one; 

And  the  shadows  settled  down: 
From  the  tower  behind  him  far 
Outshone   a   new-born   star; 
And  an  answering  vivid  gleam 
Broke  in  a  branching  stream 

From    the   great    cloud's    deepening    frown ; 
Then,  in  the  crash  and  the  roar, 
The  wild  wind  swept  the  shore, 

And  the  night  and  the  storm  had  begun. 

Silently,  hour  by  hour, 

Through   deepening  chaos  he   rode, — 
Now  fetlock-deep  in  the  foam 

That  wildly  inland  flowed, 
Now  stung  by  the  silted  sand 
That  was  torn  from  its  transient  home 
And  hurtled  along  the  strand 
By  the  storm-wind's  arm  of  power. 

Out  of  the  darkness  a  light, 

And  out  of  the  light  a  cry! 
Framed  in  that  door  of  the  night 

A  sailless  bark  plunged  by. 
Then  the  darkness  closed  again, 
And  the  peering  form  in  the  rain 
71 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Saw  but  the  gloom  of  the  sky. 
Yet  he  could  not  choose  but  hark 
To  that  wail  from  out  of  the  dark, 

That  lost  abysmal  cry. 

Morn  on  the  gleaming  beach, 

Morn  on  the  basking  sea, 
And  the  breakers  tumbling  in 
With  schoolboy  frolic  and  din, 

And  the  light  surf  racing  free! 
Ah !  earth  had  a  taunting  speech  ; 
Or  what  did  her  joyance  teach, 

But  the  utter  lack  of  care 
For  the  work  of  the  vanished  night, 
And   the   horrors  hidden    from   sight, 

And  the  dead  in  the  sea-foam  there? 

The  hardy  steed  had  gone 

To  browse  by  the  landward  bay; 
And  there,  by  the  corpse  alone, 

Silent  the  wrecker  lay, 
Searching  a  missive  borne 
By  the  dead  through  the  night  to  the  morn 

And  the  living  along  the  sands — 
Telling  of  deeds  that  were  done 
In  the  blaze  of  a  tropic  sun, 

And  the  tumult  of  lawless  lands: 

Of  a  coveted  gleaming  hoard 
In  a  mountain  fastness  stored, 

And  a  dark-eyed  comely  dame; 
And  a  guilty  longing,  fanned 
72 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


By   flutter   of   lip   and   hand, 

And  the  eyes  responsive  flame: 
Of  a  sudden  warning  at  night, 
And  a  tremulous  headlong  flight 

Through  the  dusk  savannahs  alone: 
Of  a  vengeful  return  from  afar, 
On  the  crest  of  a  billow  of  war, 

A  lava-burst  of  the  South, 
That  flooded  the  tower  of  stone: 
Of  a  midnight  escalade, 
And  the  clashing  of  blade  on  blade 
O'er  the  battlemented  walls, 
Through  chambers  and  courts  and  halls, 
To  the  base  of  the  chapel  shrine, 
That  was  stained  with  the  costly  wine 
Which  painted  his  dripping  sword: 
And  he  knew  he  had  won  the  hoard, 
And  the  dame  of  the   ruby  mouth. 

Ay  more ! — and  a  doom  unspoken, 
Unhinted  by  symbol  or  token, 
Save  the  victim's  boding  frown 

And  the  curse  in  his  dying  eye, 
Where   the   soul-light    flickered    down 

To  a  horror  that  would  not  die; 
But  borne  by  his  spirit  in 
To  the  heart  of  the  man  of  sin 

With  the  force  of  a  prophecy. 

Wild  were  his  revels  then 

With  the  dark-eyed  queen  of  shame; 
Wilder  the  evil   men 

73 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Who  about  their  threshold  came: 
And  the  heart  that  had  broken  troth 
Wearied,  and  then  grew  wroth, 

And  planned  that  his  own  should  feel 
The  thrust  of  a  rival's  steel: 
Hidden,  he  heard  them  both. 
So  he  struck  the  foremost  blow ; 
Then  gathered  his  spoils  and  fled 
From  that  land  of  memories  red, 
On  the  bark  The  Driven  Snow. 


But  still,  as  they  drove  along, 

When  all  around  was  hushed, 
Like  the  burden  of  a  song 
He  could  hear  the  notes  of  woe: 

And  the  clouds  of  evening  flushed 
With  the  blood  of  his  murdered  foe: 
And  he  knew  that  the  south-wind's  breath 
Was  bearing  him  on  to  his  death. 


His  words  stood  out  like  a  cry: 
'May  the  treasure  that  tempted  me 
Lie  hid  in  the  depths  of  the  sea, 

Till  the  rending  of  earth  and  sky. 
Its  gleam  has  a  mighty  spell; 
But  its  weight  drags  down  to  Hell: 
It  is  cursed  with  a  curse  unspoken, 
And  this  is  its  lasting  token — 

Who  wins  it  shall  swiftly  die.' 
74 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Peace  in  the  ancient  village 

Of  many-bowered  Berlin, 

From  the  sound  of  the  surf  shut  in 
By  miles  of  woodland  and   tillage ; 
Reaching  its  winding  arms, 

Whose    leafy    canopies 

Flutter  with  every  breeze, 
To  the  heart  of  the  circling  farms: 
A  fragrance  in  all  the  air 

From   a   hundred    gardens   blown, 
And  sunflecks  everywhere 

In  wavering  kisses  thrown! 
There  in  the  lovely  weather 
The  twain  were  again  together; 
The  corpse,  to  be  laid  away, 
And  storm-worn   Elkin   Hay. 

Those  who  gathered  near 
Saw  something  strange  and  drear 
In  his  haggard  cheek,  and  his  brow 
And  the  watchful  eyes  below, 

With  their  more  than  earthly  gleaming 
Something  of   triumph   there, 
In  a  secret  that  none  might  share; 
Something  of  grim  despair, 

And  the  palsy  of  nightmare  dreaming. 
Thenceforth  the  wrecker  grew 
Dim  to  the  village  view, 
Like  a  wraith  of  the  mountain  glen 

Or  a  shape  of  the  underworld, 
Or  the  grisly  forms  that  rise 
To  fright  the  wanderer's  eyes, 
75 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


From  the  depths  of  the  murky  fen 
Or  the  blinding  desert  whirled. 

Oft  in  the  depth  of  night 

The  shoresmen  saw  his  light, 

Wavering  here  and  there 

Like  the  swamp-fire's  treacherous  glare: 

Often   the  pallid   moon, 

Shining  on  waste  and  dune, 

Lighted   his   bending   form, 
Threading  the  shelly  lanes 
Left  by  the  shrunken  veins 

Of  the  last  sea-swollen  storm: 
Often  the  coaster  far 
Beyond  the  outer  bar, 
Watched  how  the  swimmer  sped, 
Cleaving  with  hand  and  head, 
The  liquid  veil  of  green 
That  hid  the  livelier  sheen 
Of  the  coin,  his  evil  star. 

Once  when  the  tide  was  low 

Under  a  growling  sky, 
A  glimmer  of  something  white 
Tempted  him  out  in  the  night; 

It  flew  as  the  angels  fly. 
He  clove   through   the  breakers'   row 
And  the  billows,  long  and  low, 
To  the  blackened  waste  beyond, 
That  was  smooth  as  a  landlocked  pond 

Where  the  lily  quiverless  stands. 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Then   the  glimmer  sank  through   the  mere, 
And  the  depths  grew  bright  and  clear 

With  a  soft  unearthly  glow, 

Showing  the  forms  below 

That  dreamily  come  and  go, 

The  sea-weed  waving  slow 

The  beams  and  the  bursting  bands, 
And  the  shattered,  gaping  deck 
Of   the   treasure-laden   wreck — 

The  wreck  of  The  Driven  Snow. 

He  hung  like  a  bird  in  the  air 
Over  a   prospect   fair, 
Then  caught  his  breath  with  a  gasp, 
And  plunged  with  desperate  grasp 

Fathom  on  fathom  down, 
Till  he  trod  the  ruined  hold, 
With  its  wealth  around  him  rolled, 
As  a  diver  treads  the  halls 

Of  some  vast  sea-foundered  town ; 
And  the  tide  through  the  oaken  walls 
Murmured    like   waterfalls 

Far-heard  o'er  a  desert  brown: 
While  ever  on  either  hand, 

Falling  with  tinkling  chime, 
The  coin  on  the  floor  of  sand 

To  the  liquid  notes  kept  time, 
From  shattered  keg  and  coffer 
Beaker-like  brimming  over 
In  a  froth  of  silver  and  gold. 
Necklace  and  brooch  and  ring 
Swung  with  the  sea-weed's  swing ; 
77 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Dangling  from  bolt  and  beam 

In   the   throb   of   the   living  seas, 
Eye-like  the  ruddy  gems 
Peeped   from  beside  the  stems, 

Swayed  with  the  delicate  veil 
Of  the  sea  tapestries; 

And  pearls  were  glimmering  pale 
In  many  a  strange  device, 

Where  the  conch  had  left  his  trail 
On  satins  and  silks  of  price, 

Or  paused  in  his  horned  mail, 
Flush-lipped  and  all  agleam, 

By  olden  draperies, 
Falling  in  fold  on  fold. 


Wild  was  the  soul  and  gay 
Of  haggard  Elkin  Hay 

In  his  mine  of  the  ocean  floor, 
He  fluttered  the  jewelled  strings 
With  his  frantic  gambolings; 
And  plunged  his  arms  in  the  gleam 
Of  the  coin,  and  poured  a  stream 
From  upreared  hand  to  hand, 
Down  to  the  satin  and  sand 

Tinkling  and  tumbling  o'er: 
And  all  the  denizens 

Of  the  depths  of  the  populous  sea 

Fled  from  his  jubilee 
To  their  hidden  hollows  and  dens. 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Outward  on  either  side 

The  curious  mullets  flew; 
Backward  scuttled  the  crab 

Rearing  his  claws  of  blue; 
The  sharp-prowed  sword-fish  hung, 
Like  a  vessel  at  anchor  swung, 
Doubtfully  on  the  tide; 
And  the  squid,  that  petty  kraken, 
Suddenly  seemed  to  waken 
In  a  flurry  of  grey  and  drab, 
And  his  upward  scrambling  vied 
With  the  mushroom  forms  of  the  ocean, 
That  rose  with  a  throbbing  motion, 

A  swimming  and  breathing  in  one; 
Waving  their  filmy  veils, 
Thrilling  their  streaming  trails, 

Like  comets  seeking  the  sun. 


Even  the  stinger  drew 

Sullenly  out  of  view, 

With  his  deadly  lance,  and  his  mouth 

Like  the  very  soul  of  a  drowth, 

And  his  monstrous  flabby  head. 
Even  the  lubberly  shark 
Paused  in  the  edge  of  the  dark, 
Showing  his  creamy  throat 
And  the  deeper  tint  of  his  coat, 
His  greedy  human  eyes 
And  the  cruel  fin  that  plies 

In  the  wake  of  the  sea-tossed  dead. 
79 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


The  hardy  wrecker  dared 

Their  wrath  in  the  realm  he  shared; 

But  the  time  had  come  to  flee, 
For  every  stifled  vein 
Swelled  with  a  fearful  strain: 
Upward  he  sprang  amain, 

Cleaving  and  spurning  the  sea. 

A  draught  of  the  cool  night  air — 

Oh  sweeter  than  any  wine! 
A  breath  on  his  brow  and  hair 

Of   perfume   that  seemed   divine: 
A  glance  at  the  utter  night, 

With  its  single  sorrowful  star, 
That  scattered  its  handbreadth  of  light 

In  a  pathway  of  sparkles  afar 

On  the  ripples  beyond  the  bar: 
A  glimpse,  as  he  turned  his  head, 
Of  a  fine  mercurial  thread, 

Mellowed  with  fluent  gold, 

Inlaid  on  an  ebon  ground: 
A  rushing  of  viewless  wings, 
That  hissed  as  the  snake  ere  he  stings, 

And  out  on  the  watery  wold 

A  menacing  moaning  sound : 
Then  shapes  went  hurrying  past; 
And,   sudden,   a  mighty  blast 
Beat  all  into  chaos  around. 

A  day  had  come  and  gone; 
And  again  the  setting  sun 
80 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Made  merry  with  Elkin  Hay, 
Where  a  corpse  had  lain  before 
On  the  rainbow-broidered  shore, — 

Baffled  the  wrecker  lay. 
And  the  shoresmen  found  him  there 
With  the  mocking  gold  in  his  hair, 

On  his  hair  and  his  brow  alone; 
A  waif  of  the  tempest  cast 
On  the  shore-line  hard  and  vast, 

Shattered  in  every  bone: 
But  reaching  still  with  a  hand 
That  clutched  on  the  solid  sand ; 
And  holding  his  hope  with  his  breath 
To  the  very  shadow  of  death. 

They  came  in  the  lessening  light, 

A  gaunt  and  pitying  crew: 
And  still,   like  forms  of  the  night, 
Stalking,  their  shadows  grew. 
The  bronze  of  their  half-lit  faces 

Had  taken  a  double  hue; 
And  their  homely  garb  in  places 

Was  gemmed  with  the  salt  sea-dew. 

Something  of  wonder  and  awe 
Woke  at  the  sight  they  saw; 

And  they  stood  in  a  listening  ring, 
Watching  for  every  word 
From  the  lips  that  fluttered  and  stirred 

Like  a  journey-wearied  wing. 
There  was  many  a  hand  ungainly 

Arched  at  the  eager  ear; 
81 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Many  a  finger  that  vainly 

Warned  to  a  hush  austere; 
Many  a  lift  of  the  brow, 

Many  a  turn  of  the  eyes ; 
Many  a  shake  of  the  head 

Slow  and  solemn  and  wise; 
For  in  all  grotesqueries 
They  could  not  fail  to  see 

He  was  telling  the  story  now 
That  he  soon  must  tell  to  the  dead. 


82 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


ELIZABETH   OF  MENDOTA 

IN  the  lovely  land  of  heavenly-tinted  waters, 
Where  ten  thousand  lakelets  drink  the  blue  above 

them, 

Till  the  eye,  exploring  depth  on  depth,  can  follow 
Through  the  gleams  and  tremors  all  the  moving 

figures 
Round  their  hidden  fountains, — where  the  prairie 

rillets, 
Laughing  as  they  journey,   seek  the  broad  bright 

rivers, 

And  the  cataract  arches  from  the  shaggy  bluffside, 
Falling,  ever  falling  in  a  veil  of  silver, — 
Home   of   sparkling   winter!      Home   of   dazzling 

summer ! 
Cloudless  Minnesota ! — seek  ye  there  my  story. 

Years  on  years  had  crowded,  forest  grown  on  forest, 
Yet  the  idle  prairies  knew  not  tilth  nor  changing; 
War  and  chase  and  feasting  filled  the  life  of  all  men. 

Only  dim  traditions  told  of  dreamlike  peoples, 
Brightening  for  a  season  many  a  fruitful  valley, 
Then  departing — whither? — leaving  nought  behind 

them 

Save  the  billowy  tombs  upthrown  on  loftier  sum- 
mits; 

Where  the   warrior   spirits  well   might   find   com- 
panions 

In  the  wandering  breezes  and  the  stars  and  silence — 

Strange  high-hearted   races,   gliding  into  darkness. 

83 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Only  from  the  village  by  the  stony  rapids, 

Where  the  white  men  bartered  in  the  foam  and 

flashing 
And   the   strong   hoarse  voices   of   the   Father   of 

Waters- 
Only  from  the  clearings  raggedly  strewn  about  it, 
Dotting  wood  and  wold  with  firefly  lamps  at  eve- 
ning, 
Came  the  first  faint  menace  of  far  mightier  changes. 

Where  the  bluff  juts  upward,  nude  and  stained  and 

furrowed, 

Crowned  with  fortress-wall  and  depth  of  dim  em- 
brasure, 

And  the  meeting  rivers  leave  a  point  of  meadow, 
Partly  over-shaded,  gathered  in  the  sunset 
All  the  crafty  wisdom  and  the  boastful  valour 
And  the  credulous  weakness  of  a  tribe,  to  listen 
To  the  tale  of  One  who  bowed  His  head  and  strove 

not, 

Though  ten  thousand  angels  waited  for  the  onset. 
Grave  and  still,  they  hearkened,  while  the  golden 

sunbeam, 
Slanting   through    the    lattice   of    the    leaves    and 

branches, 
Streamed    between    the    tree-trunks    mossed    and 

gnarled  and  mottled, 
Brightening  skin-clad   forms  bedecked  with   quills 

and   beadwork, 

Fringes  of  dead  hair-like  sear  December  grasses, 
Uncouth  bison  crests,  and  trailing  eagle  feathers: 
Sphinx-like  sat  and  listened,  inwardly  contemning; 

84 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Then,  in  deepening  twilight,  rose  with  all  decorum, 
Proffering  kindly  welcome;  and  they,  rustling,  van- 
ished ; 

As  their  race  has  vanished   from   the   homes  that 
knew  them. 

In  the  outer  circle  one  had  bowed  attentive, 
With  the  still  enduring  look  of  Indian  women: 
Not  for  her  were  feathers,  beads,  and  quills  and 

painting, 

Not  for  her  the  stir,  the  thrill  of  life  and  glory — 
Nothing  but  the  burdens,   evermore  the  burdens! 
So  her  spirit  brightened  like  a  flower  at  dewfall 
At   this   strange   new   teaching,    full   of   hope   and 

pity; 

With  a  ready  homage  to  a  power  surpassing 
Turbulent  strength  and  fierceness,  as  the  sky  sur- 
passes 

All  the  struggling  rivers  and  the  wind-tossed  for- 
ests. 

Thenceforth  in  her  musings,  and  in  all  the  crudeness 
Of  her  simple  labour,  still  that  thought  was  with 

her, 

Making  for  its  whiteness  many-fancied  vesture 
From  her  people's  dreams  and   dim  old   Nature's 

murmurs, 

Till  the  Christ  and  Mary  seemed  to  come  like  phan- 
toms 

Through  the  trees  at  nightfall;  and  she  heard  their 
voices 

85 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Breathing  like  slow  music  o'er  the  starlit  prairie: 
But  they  ever  flitted,  and  she  could  not  follow. 

Then  she  sought  the  preacher,  simply,  meekly  asking 

(Not  in  tropes  borrowed  from  a  dead  time's  forge- 
work) 

Tidings  of  that  Saviour,  where  to  look  and  find 
Him, 

"For,"  said  she,  "the  woods  are  vast  and  many-hol- 
lowed, 

And  the  prairies  stretch  to  the  world-ending  moun- 
tains 

Where  no  man  has  journeyed,  and  the  breezes  visit 

Earth  and  heaven  at  will ;  and  where  to  seek  I  know 
not." 

Then  he  answered:     "Surely,  faith  can  move  the 

mountains ! 
Gor  nor  man  hath  witnessed  faith  like  yours,  my 

daughter, 

In  this  age  of  staleness!" — for  his  soul  was  weary 
With  the  obdurate  struggle  and  the  evil  round  him, 
With  the  rude  frontiersman  and  the  sordid  tempter 
And  the  brutal  savage,  lumplike  mortals,  falling 
Faster  than  he  raised  them.    Yet,  because  he  saw  her 
Looking  this  way,  that  way,  doubtful  of  his  meaning, 
Spake  in  homelier  words,  wise-sifted   as   for  chil- 
dren, 
Brushing    from    her    soul    the    wildflower    fancies 

lightly 

As  we  brush  the  grape-bloom  that  we  miss  when 
vanished ; 

86 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Pointing  out  a  quest  in  vaguer  wilderness, 
Telling  of  a  voice  which  ear  can  never  hearken, 
And  a  light  that  shines  when  eyes  are  past  all  seeing. 

Then  she  listened,  eager  as  the  least  of  children, 
With  their  wayward  credence  and  their  keen,  deep 

probing, 

Asking  breathless  questions  that  no  soul  can  answer. 
Happy  at  heart  she  left  him,  all  the  doubts  and 

queries 

Floating  off  behind  her;  for  her  brain  was  fevered 
By  the  high  uplifting  of  the  power  of  worship. 
But  his  eye  went  after  with  a  chill  misgiving — 
Like  a  leaden  shroud  of  mist  on  autumn   meadows — 
Whether  what  he  taught  her  were  in  truth  more 

real 
Than  the  airy  voices  and  the  beckoning  figures. 

Soon  through  all  the  lodges  of  her  tribal  village 

Went  an  angry  rumour;  thus  the  wise  men  mocked 
her: 

"Strength  is  loved  of  women ;  but  this  woman  wor- 
ships 

A  weak  stripling  paleface,  nailed  on  wood  and  help- 
less, 

Wailing  for  his  father.    Was  the  Manitou  ever 

Scoffed  and  bound  and  smitten?  Who  has  laid  the 
lashes 

On  the  god  our  fathers  heard  (and  we  have  heard 
him) 

Call,  denouncing  vengeance,  from  the  inner  shadows 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Of  the  Wakon  Teebee?     These  are  gods  to  wor- 
ship." 

But  she  answered,  trembling  at  her  impious  daring: 
"Who  has  seen  this  tenant  of  the  Wakon  Teebee? 
Shall  I  worship  voices  from  an  empty  cavern? 
Air  is  full  of  sounds  and  earth  may  have  them  also. 
Show  me  of  his  works,  or  form  and  feature  show 

me." 

Then  the  priest,  confiding  in  the  cavern  terrors, 
Bade  her  seek  its  portal,  and  they  entered  with  her. 

Long  and  low  the  archway  opened  in  the  cliffside, 
And  the  beach,  the  sand-floor,  solemn-lighted,  shal- 
lowed 

To  the  thin  black  margin  of  a  great  still  water, 
Whose  diminished  glimmer  died  to  inward  darkness. 
Where  they  stood   the  councils  of  the  Sioux  had 

gathered 

Since  dead  days  forgotten,  binding  every  treaty 
By  the  awful  sanction  of  the  voice  that  sounded 
Hollow,  praising,  blaming  from  the  vaults  beyond 

them. 

But  the  sturdiest  brave  had  never  passed  that  mar- 
gin. 

Then  one,  stooping,  seized  a  crumbling  stone  and 

flung  it, 

And  it  fell  invisible  with  a  leaden  plashing — 
How  unlike  a  fall  in  open  sunlit  waters! — 
And  the  prisoned  voices  of  the  inner  shadow 
Answered  with  due  pauses,  like  retreating  armies, 
88 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Till  again  the  silence  settled  all  around  them. 
Soon,  a  visible  echo,  something  glided  outward, 
Ruffling  the  dull  water  with  no  sound  of  motion, 
Touched  upon  the  sand  its  prow  and  swayed  un- 

guided, 
Light  as  frothy  scrolls  of  troubled  wasps'  enwinding. 


In  she  stepped  before  a  solemn-plumed  magician, 
And  all  outer  life  failed  in  the  void  behind  them. 
Widely  shone  their  torchlight  on  the  Stygian  mirror, 
Painting,  as  they  sped,  its  own  fierce  smoky  likeness, 
For  no  wall  was  seen  nor  any  prop  nor  pillar, 
Save  where  fancy-changeful  dim  stalactite  shadows 
Peered  and  mowed  and  hovered,  till  she  closed  her 

eyelids. 

Then  a  rush  of  many  wings  went  by  her,  o'er  her, 
And  a  multitudinous  sound  of  shrieking  voices; 
And  she  felt  that  surely  she  had  heard  the  clamour 
Of  the  fiends  rejoicing;  for  her  breathless  glimpses 
Caught    the    spine-winged    shapes    that    gibbering 

wheeled  and  flittered 

In  and  out  the  light,  with  many-angled  darting 
From  the  ruinous  walls  that  hemmed  their  narrow 

passage, 

Here,  like  cliffs  fantastic  of  some  river  canon 
In  the  wild  sierras — here  o'erarching  grimly 
Where  the  faint  low  ripples  gurgled  in  the  black- 
ness, 

Dipping  there  and  shelving  like  a  golden  seabeach, 
Scrawled   with   veined    inscriptions   of   the   worlds 
far  dawning. 

89 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Then  there  came  a  murmur,  like  a  song  forgotten, 
Vague  and  sweet,  but  swelling  louder,  fuller,  wider, 
Till  its  liquid  thunder  rolled  and  echoed  round  her, 
Leaped  from  pile  and  buttress,  broke  on  crag  and 

cornice, 

Clashed  along  the  roof  in  swift  reverberations, 
Smote  upon  the  water,  stunning  sense  and  spirit. 
Then   she   gasped   and   waited — helpless,   hopeless, 

stricken : 

For  the  downward  plunging  in  the  cataract  chaos; 
But  her  feathered  Charon  sitting  stern,  impassive, 
Took  the  torchlight  grandly  on  his  granite  features  ; 
And  the  boat  moved  onward  with  no  slightest  effort, 
Till  it  left  the  arch  and  lay  in  sudden  splendor. 


Temple-dome  of  Baiae  wrought  in  snow  of  Paphos, 
Blazing  in  the  rows  of  ever-lighted  tapers 
Never  yet  outbrightened  that  white  holy  of  holies, 
That    deep    hymning    home    of    many-thundering 

echoes, 

Awful  as  the  psalm  of  dim  archangels  prisoned, 
Singing  what  they  sang  with  surge  of  mighty  music 
At  the  glad  creation.     Full  and  far  upswelling, 
All  the  roof  was  hung  with  jewel-icicled  pendants; 
Milky,  pearl-tipped,  rolled  in  voluming  rings  and 

fringes, 
Diamond-crusted    here,    and    there    pale    sapphire 

tinted, 
Lapped    by    luminous    ruby;    and    the   walls   were 

drifted, 

As  the  fields  and  ways  are  drifted  in  midwinter, 
90 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


With   the  sparkling  folds  of  ribbed  and  winding 

wave- work  ; 

And  the  air  was  full  of  spray-mist  and  of  rainbows, 
From  the  shattering  fall  of  mingled  foam  and  water, 
In  a  long  thin  scarf  that  curved  and  gleamed  trans- 
lucent, 

Like  a  goddess'  tresses  wind-blown  on  the  moun- 
tains ; 

Only  half  concealing  something  strange  and  shift- 
ing 
That  she  deemed  unearthly.       Dancing  plumes  the 

maiden 

Saw,  and  limbs  colossal,  fair  and  white  as  hoar-frost, 
And  a  beard  like  mosses  long  and  silvered,  vibrant 
In  the  hollow  wood  depths  at  the  breath  of  Autumn. 


More  than  this  she  saw  not,  for  her  pilot,  hissing 
In  her  ear— "The  spirit  of  the  Wakon  Teebee!" 
Turned   as  one   in   terror,   and  with   swift  blade- 
flashes 
Drove  them  through  the  archway  toward  the  outer 

cavern. 

Awe  was  on  the  girl,  and  palsied  vigilant  terror 
Of  the  something  hurrying  swift  and  sure  behind 

them, 

Of  the  crushing  gloom  and  thronging  powers  of  evil ; 
But  she  felt  the  glad  light  throbbing  in  her  spirit, 
As  one  buried  feels  the  blows  that  burst  his  charnel, 
When  the  first  faint  gleam  came  kindly  to  her  vision. 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Soon  she  leaped  to  land,  and  rushed  half  swooning 

outward, 

And  the  birds  sang  round  rejoicing  in  her  freedom. 
Not  a  word  she  spake  to  bird  or  man  or  woman, 
Lying  as  one  dazed,  while  the  slow  sun  went  west- 
ward. 

But  upon  the  morrow,  calmed  again  though  weary, 
She  made  answer :  "Truly  I  have  seen  the  spirit, 
Wrapped  in  mighty  noises  and  the  glistening  watef, 
Thin  as  running  hazes  in  the  noon  of  summer, 
Awful  as  the  figures  thronging  clouds  at  twilight, 
But  as  chill  as  snow-mist,  and  as  far  from  pity. 
Let  the  warriors  bow  before  a  shape  majestic 
And  a  voice  of  terror :  weakness  loves  compassion, — 
I  will  seek  my  Saviour!" 


So  when  lilies  whitened 

Half  the  lake's  clear  round  with  cups  of  rarest  in- 
cense, 

Each  on  long  lithe  stalk  with  gracious  motion  sway- 
ing, 

Like  the  airy  head  of  some  coquettish  beauty, 

Came  the  young  Sioux  maid,  light  stepping,  to  the 
margin, 

Where  the  preacher  stood  with  book  and  robe  and 
witness  ; 

And  behind  her  thronged,  with  uncouth  guttural 
murmur, 

All  the  idle  life  that  filled  the  basking  village. 

Then   a   hush   fell   on   them,   and   they  hearkened 
grimly, 

92 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


With    some    faint    soul-shadow    from    remembered 

terrors 

Of  dim  moonlit  glens  and  powah  incantations, 
To  the  alien  words  of  half  elusive  meaning 
In  the  mystic  rite  of  veiled  symbolic  beauty. 

Blurred  with  doubt,  the  glory  of  that  olden  ritual 
Left  his  heart  who  uttered  (inly  wroth  for  doubt- 
ing), 

Flowing  from  his  lips  in  more  majestic  cadence, 
Sweeter  in  its  strength  of  self-assuring  sureness. 
Unto  her  who  listened,  doubt  and  dimness  were  not, 
Tranced  in  love  and  faith  and  inner-gloried  vision, 
Like  his  soul  who  sought  the  wanfaced  anchorite's 

blessing. 

But  no  portent  shone  nor  sounded  out  of  heaven, 
And  no  dove  came  down  but  the  white  dove  of 

gladness : 
And  Elizabeth  rose,  the  name  herself  had  chosen. 

Often  did  she  seek  her  friend  of  friends  thereafter, 
Listening,  meek  of  soul,  the  lowliest  of  disciples, 
Till  the  glory-mist  that  hung  about  her  vision 
Haloed  round  his  head;  and  when  she  thought  of 

Heaven, 
Still  she  saw  her  teacher;  and  his  words  were  with 

her 
Like  a  seraph'§  message, — brave  words,  wrung  by 

duty 

From  a  soul  on  fire  with  swift  and  sure  upheaval; 
Reverent  of  her  peace,  yet  envious  of  that  Eden : 
As  a  voyager  borne  by  some  enchanted  islet 
93 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Holds  his  breath  for  fear  its  slumber  may  be  broken, 
Though  the  grand  free  ocean  claims  his  soul  and 

draws  it, 

So  his  every  tone  grew  tender  as  a  lover's, 
And  she  heard  with  joy,  unmindful  of  his  conscience. 

And  her  face  grew  rich  as  some  wood-darkened  wild- 
flower 
When  its  red  leaves  feel  a  darting  sunbeam  flush 

them, 

As  he  told  her  fondly,  with  a  playful  gladness : 
"Farewell  for  awhile!     Elizabeth,  I  am  going 
Back  to  my  old  home  by  the  great  bitter  water, 
Whence  the  sun  uplifts,   as  here  from  wood  and 

prairie. 

But  he  will  not  often  rise  before,  returning, 
I  will  show  you  what  will  surely  make  you  happy; 
For  no  heart  is  kinder  than  your  heart  is,  Bessie, — 
Kind  as  sunshine!"    So  he  pressed  her  hand  and  left 

her, 

Glancing  blithely  back  with  eye  of  bright  rewarding, 
Planning  glad  surprises  as  we  plan  for  children. 
And  the  strife  of  creeds  and  ache  of  doubt  and  duty 
Left  him  for  a  season. 

Then  Elizabeth  waited, 

Watching  day  by  day  beside  the  village  landing 
How  the  trailing  cloud  came  slowly  up  the  river, 
And  the  shapeless  speck  took  bulk  and  form,  and 

rounded, 
With  wide  fling  of  ropes  and  sway  and  thud  and 

crowding. 

Patiently  she  sat,  without  a  word  of  answer 
94 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


To  the  idler's  jeer  and  laughter-moving  sally ; 
For  her  soul  was  full  of  settled  calm  assurance, 
Like  clear  waters  tranced  in  the  still  glow  of  sun- 
set. 

When  at  last  she  saw  his  face  above  the  gangway, 
Every  pulse  leaped  up  with  joyous  thrill  exulting, — 
Then  sank  sickly  back  as  one  may  sink  o'erwearied, 
And  a  weight  of  woe  rolled  on  her  heart  and  crushed 

it; 

For  a  girlish  face  was  blooming  by  his  shoulder, 
Full  of  proud  confiding,  crowned  with  sunny  tresses, 
Blithe  in  bridal  glory. 

So  Elizabeth  shuddered, 
Then,    without    a    moan,    turned    dumbly    in    her 

traces — 

Moved  along  the  streets  with  set  impassive  features, 
Noiseless  as  a  cloud  or  swift  forerunning  shadow — 
Pierced  the  depth  of  forest,  as  those  wild  things 

pierce  it 

That  the  night  knows  well,  until  she  reached  a  hol- 
low 

Where  the  leafy  gloom  o'erhung  the  mossy  wrap- 
pings 

Of  a  trunk  that  turned  to  mould,  yet  kept  its  out- 
line, 
Proffering  softest  cushioned  couch;  and  there  she 

rested. 

O'er  the  fairy  cups  of  shadowed  alabaster 
Trailed  her  fingers,  and  the  waxen  fire-tipped  lichens 
Stung  a  fierce  red  life  in  the  red  limbs  that  touched 
them, 

95 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


And  her  heaving  body;  and  her  tense  outbreathing 
Was  as  winds  that  come,  thick-swollen,  before  the 

tempest 

With  no  fall  of  rain.  Then  on  a  bough  above  her 
Dropped  a  mock-bird,  and  he  made  a  jest  of  living; 
And  the  streamlet's  voice  came  void  of  soul,  and 

hollow 

As  a  tinkling  bell,  and  she  was  lorn  and  baffled ; 
And  her  mouldering  couch  seemed  love  and  hope 

and  all  things. 
Then   from  out  the  shades  arose  dim   forms  and 

wrestled, — 

One  the  mist-plumed  vision  of  the  Wakon  Teebee, 
Prompting  vengeful  rites  and  thirsty  hate  that 

spares  not, 
Treachery's  venomous  crawl,  and  all  stored  ills  of 

ages! 

But  the  other  form  was  his  who  came  at  evening, 
Less  a  form  than  voice,  a  music  o'er  the  prairie, 
Full  of  helpful  love  and  sweet  sustaining  pity: 
And  within  her  heart  it  grew,  till  shame  came  on 

her, 
And  she  sat  bowed  down,  with  scarce  a  breath  or 

motion, 
Like  to  one  unclean ;  yet  thankful,  hateless,  loving. 


Years  went  by,  and  changed  the  land  of  lakes  sky- 
tinted  ; 

For  the  white  men  spread  in  ever-widening  circles, 
And  her  race  went  backward  like  the  foam's  re- 
ceding, 

96 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Sullen,  doubting,  doubted,  storing  wrath  unspoken, 
Knowing  that  the  world  rejoiced  to  see  them  vanish. 

Still,  along  the  line  of  ever-shifting  border, 

In  the  lonely  homesteads  ringed  by  gathering  peril, 

One  dark  kindly  face,  one  noiseless  step,  found  wel- 
come ; 

Winning  thanks  from  hatred,  trust  from  grim  sus- 
picion 

By  compassionate  deeds — the  logic  of  the  angels  ; 

Till  the  children  knew  the  good  squaw  Bess  who 
cured  them,  m 

And  it  seemed  that  all  hearts  turned  to  her  in 
trouble, 

As  to  one  who  failed  not.  Curves  that  youth  made 
comely, 

From  her  face  had  vanished ;  chiefs  no  longer  wooed 
her; 

But  the  sunshine  dwelt  there,  and  its  light  was  holy, 

Though  the  fond  illusions  of  her  soul  had  fallen, 

As  the  varnished  sheaths  of  spring  fall,  lightly  tap- 
ping, 

When  the  buds  are  ripe  for  fuller  life  and  beauty. 

Yet  she  shunned  his  presence,  fearing  inner  voices, 
Like  the  ebon  birds  that  break  the  morning  pean 
With  their  file-like  squeak  and  hoarse  harsh  metal- 
line crackle. 

But  at  last  he  met  her  with  such  cordial  urgence, 
Such   reproving   mirth   for   long-endured   estrange- 
ment, 

That  her  heart  grew  shamefaced,  and  she  felt  half- 
grateful 

97 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


(Though  with  some  slight  sting  of  wonder  at  his 

blindness) 

Listening,  staidly  smiling,  to  the  cheery  trifles, 
Ripples  on  his  home-life,  giving  all  its  sparkle, 
Childish  pranks  and  games,  and  merry  talk  and  mis- 
chief, 
And  the  small  wise  sayings  of  his  boy  and  girl  folk. 

Then  his  voice  grew  troubled,  and  the  brightness 
left  him. 

"You,  Elizabeth,  you,"  he  said,  "whom  I  have  chris- 
tened, 

Roused  my  earliest  doubts  by  querying  as  they 
query — 

Doubts  that  once  were  torment,  till  I  knew  my  duty. 

God  forgive  me!     God  have  mercy  on  that  teacher 

Who  must  speak,  yet  knows  not  of  the  thing  he  ut- 
ters; 

On  a  dizzy  height  in  whirling  currents  balanced, 

Swaying,  straining,  gasping,  dreading  above  all 
things 

For  the  priceless  weal  of  souls  who  cling  and  trust 
him; 

While  they  call  through  night  for  prophecies  of 
dawning 

Where  he  sees  no  glimmer,  praying  that  his  magic 

Smite  the  earthquake  still,  and  turn  to  adamant 
stable 

All  the  riven  foundations! — God  have  mercy  on 
him! 

Now  that  woe  is  past,  for  I  will  teach  no  longer 

Where  half-speech  is  falsehood  and  the  truth  eludes 
me. 

98 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


I  will  guide  no  more  on  paths  unknown,  and  blinded 
By  the  coiling  mist  that  mimics  forms  supernal — 
Changing,  swerving,  mocking.  God  is  far  beyond 

me; 

And  I  know  no  more  than  any  child  that  passes. 
Who  was  I  to  teach  you?" 

Then  Elizabeth  answered: 

"Even  the  children,  surely,  could  have  shown  their 
elders 

Where  to  find  the  Jesus  who  had  kissed  and  blessed 
them. 

You  have  made  me  more  in  life  and  soul,  and  bet- 
ter! 

Surely  that  was  well?" 

Whereto  he  answered,  smiling: 
"Good  seed  clings  to  you,  and  all  the  shells  fall  off 

it. 

Not  the  less  I  feel  I  dare  not  speak  half-falsehood, 
Though  the  truth  it  shrouds  may  chance  to  yield  a 

blessing. 

So  to-morrow  morning  sees  me  quit  the  vineyard 
Where  I  laboured  long,  and  long  had  hope  to  labour. 
Many  there  will  be  to  blame  and  doubt  and  leave 

me; 

You  will  come,  Elizabeth?  come,  and  see  my  chil- 
dren." 

So  Elizabeth  came  to  where  the  farmer-preacher 
Dwelt  among  his  wheat-fields;  and  the  kind  wife 

met  her 

Cheerly,  yet  with  mind  indwelling  on  the  changes 
99 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


That  had  come,  or  cast  foreshadows  of  their  com- 
ing— 

On  the  chill,  dead  zeal,  the  mission  that  had  van- 
ished, 
And  the  clinging  scorn  that  wrapped  the  honoured 

pulpit, 

In  the  name  of  Christ  condemning  the  outspoken. 
But  the  children  came  without  a  shade  of  doubting, 
Save  for  stranger  ways  and  features  that  they  knew 

not. 

And  Elizabeth  stooped,  and  laid  her  hand  in  kindness 
On  the  girl's  smooth  forehead:     but  it  shrank  in- 
stinctive, 

For  the  kindness  vanished  in  a  mad  upsurging 
From  the  veins  of  red  ancestral  natures, 
Grim  as  Norseland  myths,  the  storm-born  race  that 

spared  not; 

And  her  quick  hot  greed,  athirst  like  crisping  fever, 
Saw  those  tendril  threads  of  sunlight  trailing  head- 
less, 

Bloody  from  the  knife  that  wreaked  a  circling  ven- 
geance. 

Like  a  summer-cloud,  ruddy  and  swart  with  fury, 
Swooped  that  horror; — then  it  left  her  stricken, 

trembling, 
Full  of   tales  of  souls  where   demons  made  their 

dwelling, 

And  of  ghostly  seizures  braving  God's  own  good- 
ness. 

Then    they    gathered    round,    marking    the    Sioux 

squaw  waver 

In  the  fiery  sun,  and  led  her  into  shelter, 
100 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Plying  fan-wrought  breezes,  proffering  drinks  and 

viands: 
But  none  guessed  her  secret;  and   the  child   that 

shuddered 

Came  once  more  beside  her,  eager,  pitying,  fearless. 
From  that  hour  she  loved  the  young  girl  as  a  mother 
Loves  her  dearest.  And  thereafter  grew  her  visits 
Frequent  and  more  frequent,  welcome  and  more 

welcome, 
Watching,   as  we  watch   the   drifting  clouds,    the 

drama 
Passing  high  above  her  in  a  fire-tried  spirit. 

And  the  daughter,  warming  to  this  dusky  ally, 
As  she  grew  in  years  to  more  than  childhood's  beauty 
(Like  the  tender  things  that  come  'twixt  bud  and 

leaflet, 

Fay-winged,  sunny-tinted),  oft  in  oaken  shadows, — 
While  the  robins  stood  astrut  like  redbreast  soldiers, 
Or  with  bayonet-beak  held  low  and  all  aglimmer 
Charged  and  rose  again,  or  plucked  with  sidelong 

motion, 

And  the  sleek  slow  blackbird  watched  with  eye  sa- 
gacious, 

And  the  squirrel  sat  self-canopied  above  them, 
Mumbling  food  they  flung  him, — told  of  ills  that 

deadened 

All  the  breezy  life  and  summer  warmth  and  beauty. 
For  her  father's  words  took  shape  that  woke  dire 

echoes 
In  the  hearts  and  tongues  of  those  who  heard  and 

hated, 

Till  he  found  in  man  no  truth,  in  God  no  kindness. 
101 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Calmly  through  it  all  Elizabeth  listened,  cheering, 
But  her  words  of  comfort  were  more  vague  than 

flashes 

On  the  hot  horizon,  where  the  storm  is  silent; 
And  the  ills  of  life,  though  often  self-inflicted, 
Grew   to   monstrous   wrongs,    and   evil    fellowship 

claimed  him. 
Then  the  bolt  of  death  fell  on  his  house  unlocked 

for, 
Smiting  to  chill  calm  the   little  heart  that  loved 

him, — 

She  the  third  and  least,  the  loveliest  latest  comer, 
She  who  leaned  and  reached  with  shrill  bright  baby 

triumph 
For  her  sister's  locks,  and  clutched  them  o'er  the 

cradle, 
Laughing  with  their  laughter;  she  who  lay  enten- 

drilled 
In   her   tent   of   vines,    and   crooned   among   their 

fringes 

Like  a  new-born  dryad ;  she  who  clung  appealing, 
With  that  old,  old  look  which  stabs  such  lasting 

terror, 
When  the  weird  wings  swooped  and  the  dim  talons 

rent  her. 

Tender  flickering  light,  that  shone  above  the  thresh- 
old 

Of  earth's  joy  and  beauty,  then  went  out  in  dark- 
ness! 
Ah!  the  old  may  die,  but  they  have  lived;  we  lay 

them, 

After  long  delights,  in  beds  where  all  must  follow ; 
102 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


But  for  those  who  come  and  see  not,  taste  not,  feel 
not, 

Save  one  fleeting  glimpse,  one  touch  that  wakes 
their  longing, 

All  the  life  within  them  fighting,  straining  for  it, 

Till  the  pulse  grows  listless  and  the  eye  lacks 
knowledge, 

And  they  pass  from  pain  to  the  great  rounding 
silence ! — 

Chill  must  be  that  heart,  barren  and  thorny- 
weeded, 

Where  the  fiery  woe,  the  brand,  of  such  a  passing 

Eats  not  deeply  lifelong.  All  things  round  his 
homestead, 

Hall  and  porch  and  lawn,  were  peopled  blanks 
that  stung  him, 

As  he  toiled  for  two  where  three  had  claimed  his 
labour, 

And  he  bowed  and  crept  and  felt  his  life  half  crip- 
pled; 

And  his  heart  yearned  out  to  all  mankind,  who 
suffered 

Even  as  he  had  suffered.  Then  he  heard  the  whis- 
pers 

Of  blaspheming  cant  that  dares  to  wing  God's 
arrows, 

Draping  His  great  form  in  paltry  weeds  of  judg- 
ment: 

And  in  kindlier  'tones  he  found  condemning  pity. 

So,  he  set  his  brow  and  bore  his  household  north- 
ward, 

103 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Where  a  band  of  exiles,  fiercely  grappling  freedom, 
Hating  with  dire  hate  their  old-world  crowns  and 

bondage, 

Swore  in  this  new  soil  to  plant  the  tree  of  promise, 
With  no  cankering  faith  nor  graft  of  nightshade 

fancies. 

So  their  village  shone  in  novel  surface  brightness, 
And  the  hills  around  were  hung  with  haunts  of 

pleasure ; 
Where  on   Sabbath  morns  the   reveller's  call   and 

clinking 

Sounded,  but  no  bell,  no  word  of  solemn  warning, 
Not  one  voice  to  speak  of  greater  things  hereafter. 

So  Elizabeth  lost  her  friends  from  sight  and  knowl- 
edge, 

While  the  boy  grew  man,  the  girl  became  a  woman, 
And  full  comfort  spread  in  all  their  small  belong- 
ings. 

But  the  mother's  face  was  rarely  free  from  trouble, 
And  the  daughter's  wore  a  strange  pathetic  wisdom ; 
And  the  father  felt  a  hot  storm  labouring,  panting 
Under  nature's  eaves;  for  ribald  scoffing  round  him 
On  his  human  heart,  no  longer  bigot-baited, 
Fell  like  devil-whips  that  wound  their  glutinous 

poison, 

Till  the  dim  prophetic  sense  of  hastening  ruin 
Made  all  outer  things  seem  light  as  shifting  vapour, 
And  his  soul  a  trump  of  vast  denunciations 
Not  his  own,  nor  human. 


104 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Cooped  and  chafed  and  savage, 

Robbed  of  all  their  land  and  mocked  with  broken 
treaties, 

Driven  westward,  westward,  with  no  hope  of  chang- 
ing, 

Gathered  swarthy  forms  from  all  the  land  of  waters 

For  one  desperate  outburst.  There  Elizabeth  met 
them, 

Urging  patient  peace  and  good  returned  for  evil, 

Picturing  all  the  ills  that  strife  would  bring,  and 
pleading, 

With  her  whole  heart  flung  in  every  word  she 
uttered. 

But  their  veins  were  hot;  and  one  by  one  uprising, 

In  wild  eloquent  phrase,  caught  from  the  hills  and 
prairies 

And  the  swift  shrill  winds  that  wail  at  night  along 
them, 

Heaped  they  fire  on  fire  with  tales  of  wrong  un- 
righted, 

Till  a  half-grown  youth  leaped  nimbly  in  the  circle, 

Brandishing  high  and  red  his  long  knife  in  the  sun- 
light, 

And  a  piteous  prize  of  thin  grey  hair  outstreaming. 

Then  a  cry  arose  like  wolves,  and  men  were  devils ; 

And  the  dread  cyclone  whirled  forth  in  ruin  and 
chaos. 

Now  the  day  had  come  of  earth's  deep  tale  of  pathos, 
Day  that  knits  the  hearts  of  ocean-sundered  peo- 
ples! 

And  from  all  the  village,  blind  and  giddy-hearted, 
105 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Gathered  masking  mummers,  clothed  in  quaint  de- 
vices 

Of  old  Jewish  robes  and  broad  phylacteries, 
Quaint  pontifical  garb  and  loose-flung  Roman  toga, 
Peasant  dress  of  Galilee,  shrouds  ahd  angel  pinions. 
Then  the  pageant  wound,  with  rude  derisive  laugh- 
ter, 
Through  the  streets,  that  rang  as  though  again  old 

Salem 

Poured  its  evil  crew  to  jeer  and  point  and  gibber 
On  the  road  to  Calvary.    In  their  front  was  carried, 
By  a  scrawny  beast,  whose  long  ears  drooped  and 

draggled, 

One  who  bore  a  cross  above  his  thorn-crowned  fore- 
head, 

Blear-eyed,  haggard-cheeked,  a  hideous  unlike  like- 
ness, 

Chanting  as  he  rode,  and  quaffing  as  he  chanted  ; 
And  behind  him  came  a  manger-bearing  Mary, 
With   great   maudlin    flow   of   tears   and   drunken 

outcry ; 
And  a  leering  John,  whose  long  locks  showed  a 

woman, — 

"He  whom  Jesus  loved!"    And  all  the  rabble  fol- 
lowed, 

Strewing  little  leaves  of  winter-moulded  fodder, 
Yellow  pine-leaf  needles,  furry  foxglove  branches, 
And  the  trailing  nettles  of  the  poison  ivy, 
Shouting — "Palms!      Hosannah    to   the    King   of 
Glory!" 

Thus  they  reached  a  space  whose  central  summit 
opened 

106 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Vision  of  far  fields  and  woods  and  scattered  home- 
steads. 
There  a  form  strode  forth,  and  stayed  them  with  a 

gesture  ; 

And  his  shadow  fell  upon  them  like  deep  silence ; 
And  his  voice  had  all  the  hoarse  forerunning  menace 
Of  swift  stormful  clouds,  that  rise  and  flush  and 

darkle, 
Driven  by  power  beyond  them.     "Men,"  he  cried, 

"what  mean  ye? 
Gnats    that    buzz    and    drone    along    the    blazing 

prairie, 

Sparks  that  stir  the  mine  and  vanish  in  its  blazing! 
God  is  very  near — on  eye  and  heart  and  spirit: 
God  is  here,  here,  here!  in  wrath  and  power  and 

terror! 
Here  in  earth  that  wakes  to  thrill  and  crumble  and 

shatter ; 

Here  in  skies  that  rain  red  arrows  of  destruction ! — 
Look,  and  listen !" 

Then  away  to  north  and  westward 
Thick-wreathed  clouds  of  smoke  went  up  behind 

the  woodlands, 

Like  the  sooty  coils  of  Ashtaroth's  evil  altars. 
All  the  roads  were  flecked  with  hurrying  forms ;  the 

inmates 

Poured  from  every  house  to  join  that  mad  hegira ; 
And  a  faint  wild  sound  of  many  tones  commingled 
Came  from  far  beyond,  like  night-winds  heard  in 

dreaming. 

And  each  masquer  felt  an  unseen  hand  laid  on  him, 
107 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Gaunt  with   blank   surmise   and   many-questioning 

peril. 

Then  again  that  voice  of  deep  denunciation — 
"Seek   your   homes,    your   homes,    and    look   dread 

Desolation 
In  the  face:  he  comes  wild-winged  and  will  not 

tarry. 
You  have  called  the  fiends,  and  fiends  are  trooping 

on  you." 


Then  a  cry  arose,  aghast  and  lone  and  dismal, 

And  the  rabble  flew  at  random  hither,  thither, 

Like   feprawled    water-skimmers    startled    in    their 
dances ; 

While  their  warner  stood  as  one  who  wakes  half- 
dazzled, 

Fitting  words  to  thoughts,  for  truly  he  had  spoken 

But  as  trumpets  speak  when  mouthed  by  mighty 
voices, 

Knowing  not  half  he  said.     Then  sudden   terror 
stung  him, 

And  he  sought  his  horse  and  fled  in  silence  home- 
ward, 

Passing  one  by  one, .  swift  forms  that  warned  and 
gestured, 

Till  the  last  was  gone,  and  still  the  loved  ones  came 
not, 

And  his  house  lay  furlongs  on  beyond.     He  saw  it 

Door-wide  and   deserted,   and   dire   thoughts  were 
busy. 

Then  a  figure,  hardy  as  the  chinquapin  bushes, 
108 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


From   a  clump  before  him  leaped;  he  stared   and 
halted, 

With  swift  rearward   rein,   and  sudden   slide  and 
scramble. 

"Elizabeth,  you!"  he  cried.     "Where  are  they?  say 
for  God's  sake." 

"Safe!"  she  answered.— "Safe!   and    I   will   guard 
and  guide  them. 

Seek  them  in  St.  Paul  when  all  is  done  and  ended. 

Now  you  cannot  seek,  for  there  is  death  between 
you — 

Death  around,  ahead !  this  very  road  is  ambushed. 

They  are  safe,  I  tell  you — hasten !  turn  and  hasten !" 

As  she  spoke,  she  vanished ;  and  he  sat  a  moment 

Doubtful ;  then  he  wheeled,  and  sped  hot-spurring 
backward, 

While  dusk  fancy-visions  flitted  with  poised  weapons 

Through  the  woods  beside  him;  every  vacant  door- 
way 

Gaped  with  possible  death,  and  even  the  fence-row 
bushes 

Took  the  shapes  they  take  by  moonless  roads  at  mid- 
night. 

All  the  village  streets  were  crowded,  as  he  entered, 

With  a  human  herd,  like  penned  deer  quivering, 
huddling — 

Gasping  like  speared  salmon ;  all  their  masque  bra- 
vado 

Gone,  and  nothing  left  that  even  a  curse  could  cling 
to. 

Surely  all  had  perished ;  but  some  sturdier  spirits — 

Men  who  scoffed  not,  quailed  not,  drawn  from  wood 
and  prairie — 

109 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Resolute-handed  seized  the  work  that  wrought  sal- 
vation ; 

Till  the  chaos  threw  a  straggling  rampart  round  it, 
Such  as  freshets  throw  to  bar  their  own  uprising, — 
Shell  that  bent  not,  shattered  not  in  the  sudden 

rushes, 
When  the  ground  was  thick  with  shadowy  forms 

of  evil, 
And  the  air  was  wild  with  hell-taught  screaming 

noises! 
Shell   that   held   its  line   through   all   the   nearing 

leaguer, 

While  lead-spray  drove  in  at  every  gap  and  crevice, 
And  the  falling  arrows  lighted  thatch  and  lintel, 
And  derisive  voices  shouted  out  of  covert 
All  the  coming  woes  of  shameless  lust  and  hatred. 

Meantime    through    the    land    Elizabeth    and    her 

charges 
Fled,  with  all  the  wiles  that  wood  and  wold  had 

taught  her, 

From  the  merciless  storm   that  searched  their  in- 
most refuge; 
For,  where  all  was  sweet  as  day-dreams,  stiffening 

corpses 
Often   warned   them   back;   and   oft  their  nightly 

pathway 
Reddened  with  swift  gleams  from  burning  homes, 

whose  tenants 
Fled    far   eastward;   or   their   noonday   sleep   was 

broken 
By  such  wails  as  scarce  could  come  from  human 

anguish — 

no 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Tramp  of  dancing  feet  and  high  ecstatic  laughter, 
Lingering  hour  by  hour,   till   moans   died   out   in 
silence. 

Oh  the  blast  of  Hell  that  swept  through  all  that 

region ! 

Oh  the  wordless  woe  and  blind  outspeeding  Terror ! 
Wide-armed  Panic's  rush  o'er  all  things  that  we 

cherish ! 
Hate's  shrill-screaming  swoop  to  seize  the  prey  she 

flung  him! 
Tottering  forms  that  clung  to  sick-beds,  wan  and 

gasping, 

No  friend  left,  and  full  of  utter  hearkening  horror  ; 
Playful  cradled  babes  that  knew  not  of  their  peril; 
Slight-limbed  weary  girls,  and  men  of  fourscore, 

calling 
As  struck  bisons  call  when  the  herd  thunders  by 

them 
And  the  wolves  come  quickly.     Fright,   the  grim 

enchantress, 

Scattered  at  one  breath  the  cobweb  growth  of  ages: 
Men  were  beasts  again,  and,  bellowing,  fled  for 

safety. 

But  God's  gleaning  angel  came  to  that  dire  harvest, 

Snatching  ear  by  ear  to  swell  the  sheaf  she  car- 
ried, 

Sick  at  heart  with  dread  for  all  her  growing  bur- 
den, 

Worn   in   body  and  soul  with   constant  strain   of 
forecast, 

in 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Guarding  all  their  rest  and  crippled  dragging  prog- 
ress, 

Till  it  almost  seemed  that  viewless  walls  were  round 
them, 

Like  the  sworded  rim  of  interdicted  Eden. 

So  the  year's  young  wakening  in  the  half-clad  forest 

Was  a  thing  they  noted  plainlier  and  more  plainly. 

When  Elizabeth  lightly  thrid  the  aisles,  to  hover, 
As  the  epaulet-shouldered  blackbird  hangs  swift  flut- 
tering, 

Silent,  dubious,  shifting  with  the  form  he  watches, 
In  some  hidden  nook  sat  Julia  and  her  mother, 
While  the  children  played,   and  heartening  youth 

stood  sentry, 

Mindful  of  her  face  far  more  than  outer  danger, 
And  the  old  folk  basked  and  listened  to  sweet  music 
Where  the  full  stream  sang  with  midway  rush  of 

dimples 

And  smooth  sidelong  reach  of  slow-reversing  eddies ; 
Or  the  cataract  teased  the  light  twigs  in  its  falling; 
Or  long  formless  sounds,  like  Nature's  gathering 

voices 
Ere  she  speaks,  came  to  them  through  damp  vaults, 

where  only 

One  slim  forest  finger  swayed,  as  if  in  warning; 
Or  etherial  waves  kissed  breezily  on  the  fringes 
Of  some  rustling  islet.    And  the  young  girl  gathered 
With  light  hand  the  fragile  scentless  early  blossoms, 
Fairy  heralds  sent  before  the  queens  of  summer; 
Small  horned  violets  white,   fine  pencilled  yellow 
throated, 

112 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Delicate   fan-veined   pink-cups,   juicy  of  stalk  and 

pungent, 
Four-rayed  Bethlehem  stars,  pale-blue  like  noonday 

sky  tints, 
Wire-stemmed    windflower    feathers,     ever    airily 

dancing, 

And  all  living  flecks  that  snow  among  the  grasses, 
Brightening  where  they  fall.     Elizabeth  brightened 

likewise 
When    she   came   grim-weary    from    her   lonesome 

vigils 
And  weak  hopeless  thoughts,  and  found  the  fresh 

young  beauty 
Crowned  with  sister  blooms  and  light  of  fondest 

welcome. 

Yet  the  shades  came  back  and  brought  a  growing 

struggle, 

In  the  solemn  night  of  evil-peopled  forests, 
With  old  outworn  taints  and  wrongs  she  thought 

forgiven, 
Working  more  and  more  as  her  faint  pulse  grew 

fainter 
And  the  days  seemed  endless.     Yet  she  held  her 

purpose, 

As  the  steersman,  reeling  in  the  smoke  and  vapour 
And  thick  driving  flame,  clings  fast  with  crisping 

fingers 

To  the  bar  he  sees  not,  and  drives  on  to  safety. 
So  at  last  she  gained  her  port,  and  dropped  o'er- 

wearied, 

Bearing  threescore  lives  from  hell-fire  into  shelter. 
113 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


And  they  called  her  old,  for  she  was  browed  and 

furrowed 
As  by  many  years — "Old  Betz!"  and  half  forgot 

her, 
Till  they  drove  her  forth  to  exile,  with  her  people. 

For  the  lordlier  race  had  yielded  but  to  gather 

In    piled    waves    before    that    wrenching    cyclone, 

whirling 

From  unwarning  skies;  then  burst  the  airy  tether, 
In  full  head  of  wrath,  flooding  the  land  with  ven- 
geance. 
Far  they   fled   and  wild   the  nightmare  shapes  of 

darkness, 
Breathless   and   aghast   at   the   dread   power   they 

wakened, 
Scourging  heavy  and  fell.    Thus  the  long  rush  and 

fury 
Flowed  and  ebbed  and  flowed,  and  left  the  land 

exhausted, 
Strewn  with  rafterless  walls  and  blackening  heaps 

of  hamlets. 

And  in  midst  of  all  the  stolid  herd  of  captives, 
With  their  fiendlike  fierceness  quelled,  and  nought 

remaining 

But  the  endless  power  to  endure,  and  some  vainglory 
In  past  wreck  and  horror. 

Scarce  the  loathing  victors 
In  that  brutish  reek  of  crime  and  evil  presence 
Marked,  could  mark,  the  few,  the  nobler  for  such 

setting, 

Who  had  done  unseen  their  full  heroic  duty, — 
114 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Saving  those  who  scorned  them — shielding  those 
who  hated — 

Striving  in  God's  cause  while  all  things  went  with 
Satan — 

Braving  steel  and  fire  when  wiser  ones  had  van- 
ished! 

Garb  and  hue  alone  seemed  certain  test  and  war- 
rant: 

So  a  cry  went  up,  and  all  were  hurried  westward, 

Out  across  the  plains  and  o'er  the  turbid  river, 

Where  the  mountain  peaks  looked  grimly  from  the 
distance, 

Cold  as  fate. 

But  ere  she  took  this  weary  journey, 
Worn  Elizabeth  came  to  see  her  dying,. teacher 
(Smitten  nigh  the  heart  in  the  last  direst  onset, 
Spurred  by  hastening  rescue),  while  the  loved  ones 

round  him 
Watched    the    ebbing   life    and    counted    hours    in 

silence ; 
But  he  moved  his  hand,  and  said  aloud :  "God  bless 

you! 
Many   winds   have   blown    and    waters    used    me 

roughly, 

But  at  last  the  end  draws  near  and  troubles  lessen, 
As   rough   paths   grow   smooth   while   the   horizon 

widens 

And  still  heights  endow  the  eye  with  juster  vision. 
Errors  once  adored,   then  spurned,   seem  childlike 

wrappings, 

Scarce  worth  stripping,  of  the  truth  they  cover. 
US 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


God,  I  know,  is  good ;  for  He,  almighty,  chooses 
Growth  for  His  one  law,  that  all  things  branch  and 

greaten, — 
Mist  through  plant  and  beast  to  man  and  angel 

rising, 

Blending,  flowing  still,  a  deepening  broadening  river, 
Out   of   gloom    to   light,    from    light   to   wordless 

glories, 

Dimly  prophesied  yet,  but  certain  in  the  distance. 
Even  the  eddies  sparkle  with  the  rays  they  turn 

from. 
Ah!  in  truth  I  know  that  life  is  good — God  made 

it; 

Yea,  all  lives  that  are,  and  fear  not  for  the  future: 
Whether  in  His  sight  it  seemeth  best  to  send  me 
Once  again  through  flesh,  in  these  familiar  mem- 
bers, 

Babe  to  manhood  growing;  or  for  loftier  uses, 
In  unwonted  form,  to  learn  in  some  far  planet 
Powers  undreamed  to  serve  and  strive  and  err  and 

suffer ; 

Or  in  some  dim  rest,  with  all  the  quiet  spirits 
Wait  upon  His  will,  as  all  the  chaos  waited, 
Till  the  fiat  come;  or,  wingless  messenger,  slanting 
Through  the  yielding  air  and  thin  unclogging  ether, 
Flash  from  world  to  world  on  His  glad  timeless 

errands  ; 

Or,  in  crowned  delights  no  mortal  mind  may  figure, 
Walk  for  endless  days  with  those  who  love  and 

praise  Him, 
In  great  shower  of  light  and  cooling  shift  of  shadow, 

116 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


And  clear  murmurous  sounds  like  changeful  rivulet 

music, 

And  sweet  varying  odours  fresh  as  ocean  breezes, — 
Sure,  where'er  I  go,  that  those  I  love  shall  follow, 
Those  I  lost  await  me:  for  His  voice  has  spoken, 
And  my  heart  has  heard  Him."    And  he  passed  ere 

morning. 

Then,  as  in  a  dream,  she  journeyed  with  the  exiles 
Till  the  sun,  which  set  at  first  behind  the  prairie, 
Gilded  cloudy  peaks  afar  at  every  nightfall: 
And   they   grew   and   grew   in   their   great   lonely 

menace, 

Weighing  on  her  spirit  like  old  heathenesse  rising 
O'er  her  later  life.     Her  childish  kindred  sported 
In  new  homes,  or  lolled  and  basked  and  mocked  her, 
But  behind  the  child  she  shuddered  at  the  demon ; 
And  they  paid  her  blame  with  threats  of  future  ven- 
geance 

For  her  faithless  balk  of  spoil  and  torment-pleasure. 
And  her  heart  ached  sadly  for  loved  solemn  places, 
Summoning  bells  and  chants  and  the  deep  thrill  of 

worship, 

And  one  fair  young  face.  Thus  ever,  as  she  brooded, 
Trouble  grew  apace:  until  she  rose,  half-maddened 
By  unbearable  thought,  and  crept  off  through  the 

gloaming, 

No  man  asking  "Whither?"  But  her  face  was  east- 
ward. 

In  the  dark  and  day  she  toiled  across  the  prairie: 
Suns  arose  and  sank,  and  each  sun  brought  its  peril, 
117 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


From  the  hostile  tribes  that  roamed  for  scalps;  the 
panther 

Crouched  by  river  fringe;  or  grass-hid  rattling  ser- 
pents; 

Sudden  whirlwind  swoops;  or  blazing  roar  of 
prairies, 

With  the  multitudinous  rush  of  all  things  living 

Hurried  on  before  in  wide-awakening  clamour. 

Yet  each  danger  passed,  and  bitterest  herbs  were 
sweetened 

By  the  thought  that  every  step  brought  nearer, 
nearer, 

Though  so  hopeless  far,  the  magnet  of  her  being. 

And  at  night,  when  all  was  gone  but  God  and 
voices 

Of  great  Nature,  and  the  lights  that  darkness 
wakens 

In  the  heavens  and  earth,  the  unseen  world  drew 
near  her; 

And  there  came  at  times  on  fevered  flagging  pulses 

And  spent  nerves,  a  sense  of  some  all-gracious  pres- 
ence, 

And  low  promises  breathed  in  dreamy  ears  that 
listened, 

Till  full  slumber  fell  and  wrapped  her,  prayerful 
smiling. 

So  she  reached  at  last  the  prairie  rim,  and  listened 
To  the  whish  of  winds  on  solid  flattening  cedars, 
Rustling  orchard  leaves,  and  farmyard  calls  of 

homesteads, 

Spreading  once  again  in  tidal  lines  far  westward. 
118 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


And  through  all  the  land  the  praise  of  her  endur- 
ance 

And  great  love  went  forth,  and  won  her  kindly 
service. 

So  she  found  a  home  in  beautiful  Mendota, 

Near  the  spot  where  first  she  heard  of  Christ,  and 
nearer 

The  dear  house  of  God  by  the  clear  sweeping  river. 

Now  the  sunshine  falls  upon  her  grave  soft-sodded ; 

And  bright  flowerets  bloom,  unseen  by  her;  and 
music, 

That  she  hears  not,  breathes  from  the  long  wind- 
swept branches 

And  the  deepening  aisle  where  hearts  and  tones  com- 
mingle 

In  full  praise;  and  all  the  life  of  man  and  nature 

That  she  loved  rolls  on,  as  though  a  very  shadow 

Came  and  left  it  in  her  birth  and  dying. 

Yet  she  has  her  God — the  God  of  hero-spirits, 

Who  not  meanly  live,  but  strive  to  keep  His  like- 
ness, 

Doing  to  the  full  their  duty  as  He  gives  it, 

Toiling  for  the  right  in  love's  supreme  endeavour. 

Leave  her  there  in  faith:  and  surely,  through  the 
ages, 

Now  and  then  some  heart  shall  warm  to  higher 
service 

At  the  thought  of  what  she  wrought,  the  fond  and 
faithful, 

With  all  hopeful  care  and  strong  unyielding  effort. 
119 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


THE  LIGHTS  OF  MARBLEHEAD 

BY  the  curving  shore  and  the  dozing  town 

A  bark,  the  Gloucester,  lay; 
She  waited  for  wind  and  she  waited  for  tide 

And  the  dawn  of  another  day: 

And  for  something  surer  than   dawn  or  tide, 

A  something  no  man  might  flee, 
For  the  hour  that  was  set  by  the  will  of  God 

And  the  wrath  of  His  awful  sea. 

They  walked  at  eve  by  the  lapping  bay, 

And  they  saw  the  waves  afire; 
And  he  said :  "There's  a  light  in  yonder  home 

And  a  light  on  yonder  spire. 

"And  dear  is  our  earthly  light,  my  love, 

And  holy  the  light  from  heaven: 
But  these,  they  are  neither  of  God  nor  man 

And  they  come  like  the  spirits  driven. 

"I  have  watched  them  cling  to  the  shaken  mast 
And  gleam  with  the  leer  of  Sin. — 

Woe,  woe  to  the  town  of  Marblehead 
When  the  waves  come  burning  in." 

Wan  was  the  wife  as  the  moon  in  storms, 
But  she  said:  "They  are  all  His  own. 

Not  less  the  sea-fires  vague  and  fierce 
Than  the  lights  around  the  throne. 
120 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


"And  if  it  be  true  they  indeed  do  bear 

The  tidings  of  things  to  be, 
O  God  by  the  faith  I  have  held  and  hold 

May  their  message  bring  peace  to  me." 

In  the  breath  of  morn  from  the  eyes  of  men 

Seaward  the  Gloucester  sped  ; 
And  with  her  the  hope  of  three-score  homes 

In  the  village  of  Marblehead. 

But  they  felt  no  fear  on  the  storm-loved  cape, 
And  they  hushed  no  sound  of  mirth ; 

Save  one  lone  woman  who  watched  and  waned, 
As  the  bark  had  waned  from  earth. 

And  now  the  lights  were  in  all  the  air 

And  the  lights  were  on  all  the  sea ; 
And  one  dim  figure  was  waiting  there 

For  the  tidings  of  things  to  be. 

Still,  as  she  gazed,  over  three-score  homes, 

The  homes  of  the  vanished  crew, 
In  a  strange  wild  flight,  the  wavering  light 

Of  the  fire  that  burned  not  flew. 


And  she  bowed  her  down  with  a  wailing  cry 

In  a  tremor  of  woe  and  dread, 
For  she  knew  that  the  heart  of  the  loved  and  gone 

Was  the  heart  of  the  loved  and  dead. 
121 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Yet  she  seemed  to  hear  through  the  deep-toned  surf 

As  she  sank  by  the  sea-wall  dim 
An  inner  voice  that  was  far  but  clear: 

"They  are  living  all,  to  Him." 


122 


POEMS  OF  MEDITATION 


THE  COUNSEL  OF  THE  HILLS 

HAVING  told  tales, 
And  growing  over  weary  in  the  telling, 

Since  nought  avails, 

I  would  take  counsel  in  the  inmost  dwelling 
Of  that  which  no  man  knows,  but  each  man  feels 
upwelling. 

Here  on  my  hill, 
While  the  wide  heavens  and  silent  stars  wheel  by 

me, 

And  all  athrill 

One  far  wild  whisper  breathes  insistent  nigh  me, 
Borne    through   the   signalling   boughs,    to   allure, 
elude,  defy  me. 

Our  river's  voice 
Urging  the  rapids  with  low  resolute  roar, 

Man's  toil  and  joys 

Upmurmuring  dreamily  from  town  and  shore, 
The  fields'  fine  tremulous  choir,  exulting  more  and 
more. 


I  hear  them  all, 
And  feel  profoundly  unto  all  akin ; 

Feel,  too,  the  wall 

That  hems  us  every  way  unpierced  though  thin. 
Oh  that  some  straining  soul  may  let  sure  brightness 
in! 

125 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


What  should  one  say, 
When  half  a  hundred  years  have  passed  him  by, 

To  shed  some  ray 

On  life  that  still  must  live  until  it  die; 
To  make  both  life  and  death  more  clear  to  mortal 


eye? 


Have  I  not  seen 
In  many  a  phase  the  weaving  world  of  man? 

And  on  His  screen 

Great  shadows  wrought,  where  whoso  will  may  scan 
The  vast  processional  of  God's  stupendous  plan  ? 


Our  circling  isle, 
Oceaned  immeasurably  in  time  and  space, 

Breeds,  for  a  while, 

On  its  mapped  round  the  swarming  human  race 
Born  yesterday,  ripening  now,  soon  gone  to  leave 
no  trace. 


Ten  thousand  years — 
What  are  they  to  the  millions  of  our  globe  ? 

Or  these  to  spheres, 

Ancient  of  glimmering,  thought  may  hardly  probe? 
The  scintillant  shuttles  driven  of  one  transcendent 
robe! 


126 


Poems  of  Meditation 


How  scant  the  time 
Since  man  was  but  a  bleared  and  caverned  thing, 

Nature's  last  crime! — 

Furtive  before  a  clawed  world's  snarl  and  spring; 
His  one  mean  hope  the  craft  to  lure  and  lurk  and 
sting ! 


Who  could  have  dreamed 
That  such  an  abject  bore  miraculous  power 

To  search  the  beamed 

Souls  of  far  systems  in  their  subtlest  flower; 
To  make  heaven  fire  his  lamp,  to  enthrall,  create, 
uptower  ? 


That  cabined  soul 
Harbored  all  gracious  and  beneficent  bloom 

Yet  to  unroll: — 

Aurelius'  kindliness  in  joy  or  gloom; 
The  radiant  love  of  Christ,  dear  conqueror  of  the 
tomb! 


More  deep  and  wide, 
We  trust  what  few  have  felt  mankind  shall  feel 

In  full  flood-tide, 

Far  mightier  mastery  hurrying  years  reveal, 
Splendor  on  splendor  throng  and  glorious  peal  on 
peal. 


127 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


It  ends  not  here: 
Orbs  die,  force  dies  not  with  the  dying  sun. 

Blot  out  our  sphere, 

Her  strange  magician,  all  the  crowns  he  won: — 
Elsewhere   in   widening  wave   his   soul   sweeps  on 
and  on. 


Our  regal  kind 
Repeats  its  history  in  each  earthborn  frame, 

Each  wakening  mind. 

Deft  fingers  trace  the  thread,  the  windings  name 
Of  that  long  labyrinth  dim,  wherethrough  our  be- 
ing came. 


Even  so  thy  spirit 
Full  right  of  prophecy  from  the  glory  of  all 

Must  here  inherit. 

Shall  Man  ride  triumphing  o'er  thy  funeral  pall? 
One  are  we,  many  in  one,  alike  to  soar  or  fall. 


Through  the  dread  veil 
Man  brought  compassion,  aspiration,  joy, 

All  seeds  of  bliss  or  bale, 

The  conscious  dominant  will  of  high  employ — 
Can  that  same  veil  have  power  to  fuse,  corrode, 
destroy? 


128 


Poems  of  Meditation 


We  know  the  stream 
Is  of  the  fount  and  ocean  cloud  and  rain : 

Each  drop,  agleam, 

Bears  the  same  essence  to  the  welcoming  main, 
Thence  on  aerial  wings  to  the  blue  hills  again. 


What  there  we  found 
Shall  still  await  us:  all  diviner  pleasure 

Grows  from  God's  ground — 
Heaven-conquering    love    and    life    in    bounteous 

measure, 

Strength  for  the  weary  will,  high  hope's  unending 
treasure. 


Seek  not  to  cast 
The  horoscope  of  evil,  nor  to  find 

In  aeons  vast 

Its  awful  parentage,  yet  undivined, 
Across  our  world  it  writhes  with  greatening  good 
entwined. 


This  yet  abides, 
Faith,  hope  are  justified  of  earth  and  heaven. 

Through  battering  tides 

Bear  sturdily  on,  though  baffled  seven  times  seven, 
Clasp  hands,  thrill  hearts,  work  out  the  poisonous 
leaven. 


129 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Man  is  a  bark, 
Freighted  with  clinging  weeds  and  glorious  flowers, 

Steered  between  dark  and  dark. 
Grand  though  our  heritage  far  more  subtly  ours 
Is   the   proud    task   to   tend   those   ever-blossoming 
bowers. 


We  prate  of  eld,— 
Is  it  so  far  a  cry  to  Olivet? 

Who  hath  beheld 

Is  recent,  and  the  seers  are  with  us  yet, 
On  life's  translucent  shell  their  eager  vision  set. 


The  light  divine 
In  perfect  clearness  man  may  never  know. 

From  some  hid  shrine 
It  pours,  empurpled  by  cathedral  glow, 
Or  soiled  and  cloudily  dim,  or  riven  in  sparkling 
flow. 


Let  none  arraign, 
With  drear  philosophy,  the  source  of  things: 

Through  grief  and  pain, 
Through  all  the  sordidness  our  tangle  brings 
Turn  to  that  conquering  light  with  healing  on  its 
wings. 


130 


Poems  of  Meditation 


LOOKING  BEYOND 

FROM  the  world-web  that  baffles  and  blesses, 

Wind-woven  and  flaunting, 
From  the  greenwoods'  gay  dainty  caresses, 

Too  careless  for  taunting, 

O  eddy-worn  life  that  stirs  deep 

To  discolor  the  stream 
Look  forth  to  the  calm  beyond  sleep 

The  great  vision  no  dream. 

THE    WORLD 

Lo,  the  manifold  surges  of  hills 

Overtufted  with  leaves; 
The  cell-swarms  where  man  labors  and  thrills, 

The  bright  ocean  he  grieves 

With  slant  wing,  or  trails  pennon  sky-sped, 

Over  dimples  or  foam ; — 
Leagues  below  him  the  grey  haunted  bed, 

High  above,  the  clear  dome! 

How  the  globe  hurtles  on,  spinning  round, 

A  tumultuous  will ! 
Yet  we  see  not,  we  hear  not  a  sound — 

So  triumphantly  still! 


131 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Warm  tilth-chequered  slopes,  cavern  gloom, 

Ringed  islets,  barbed  spires, 
Pale  tangles  of  temple  and  tomb, 

Forest-veiled  from  sun-fires, 

Blind  reaches  of  desert,  rich  plains, 

Rock-talons,  earth-scars, 
Fire  mountains,  the  scrolled  river  veins, 

Whirling  under  the  stars ! 

Oh  multiform  world-home  of  ours 

Of  pictorial  glow, 
Bathed  round  by  the  rhythm  of  strange  powers 

In  continual  flow; — 

Of  the  million-fine,  billion-fine  thrills, 

Which  are  lightning  and  light ; 
Which  can  peer  through  quick  flesh  or  ribbed  hills 

Or  bridge  space  in  thought  flight! 

THE  SUN 

Oh  world-home  flung  free,  tethered  sure, 

Which  must  go  as  it  came ; 
Voyaging  round,  while  long  ages  endure, 

A  sphered  sea  of  wild  flame: — 

Swollen,  struggling  abyss  beyond  thought, 

Outlancing  blue  blaze, 
Whirled  cavernous  fury  inwrought, 

Living  veil  of  fierce  haze. 

132 


Poems  of  Meditation 


Oh  terrible  mother  of  all 

Thou  liest  in  wait, 
As  the  kraken  in  coralline  hall, 

As  the  hunger  of  hate ! 

Yet  thy  glare  of  destruction  is  quelled 

To  the  light  of  our  life, 
And  our  genialist  comfort  upheld 

By  thy  furnace  of  strife. 

Benignant,  far-bearing  thy  brood, 

On  an  errand  unknown, 
Through  the  void  with  keen  pulses  endued, 

Thou  hast  sped,  thou  art  thrown. 

STARS  AND  NEBULAE 

Oh  wonders  of  globe-life  unfurled, 

Which  were  ours,  or  may  be, 
Through  the  high  panorama  onhurled 

As  we  flee,  as  we  flee ! 

Cloud-eddies  impearled  in  dream-fire, 
That  weave  arms  and  strew  spray; 

White  cores  ringed  by  circlet  and  spire, 
Flinging  far  the  broad  day; 

Moist  worlds  budding  forth  in  weird  forms, 

That  sway  high  or  crawl  low; 
Steam-welter  of  seas  in  hot  storms, 

The  upburst  and  red  flow; 


133 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Twin-helmeted  worlds  of  cold  sheen, 
Crystal  mountains  upthrown, 

Grim  ice-walls  that  close  on  the  green 
Life-abounding  mid-zone : 

Plume-portents;  rained  javelin-fire; 

The  wild  birth  of  new  stars; 
Coil-dances  of  flame-worlds;  the  dire 

Whirl-wreck   of   heaven-wars. 


THE   VISIBLE    UNIVERSE 

Faint  pin-points  of  ultimate  spheres, 

Which  are  gulfs  of  mad  glow, 
Dwindling   down    through   black   space   and   dead 
years, 

In  their  lightning-swift  flow. 

Enormous,  unthwarted,  unknown, 

Yet  all  woven  in  one 
Miraculous  web,  which  alone 

Binds  sun  unto  sun ! 

But  the  blackness  that  whelms  and  affrights — 

Unwinged  of  spirit,  untrod  ? — 
Round  the  fire-fly  swarm  of  lights 

In  the  awful  hall  of  God. 

Here  in  their  shimmering  gleams 

Are  we  set  as  a  test  or  a  show, 
Or  like  children  weaving  in  dreams 

What  we  may  not  know. 


134 


Poems  of  Meditation 


FOR  THE  SPLENDOR  OF  THE  WORLD 

FOR  the  splendor  of  the  world 

Let  us  still  thank  God : — 
For  the  banners  unfurled 

In  the  glorious  march  of  even ; 
For  the  quivering  eyelids  of  heaven 
And  the  lightning's  javelin  rod; 
Rainbows  and  sunbright  showers, 
Cloud-foam  that  topples  and  towers 
And  the  wild-sown  welcome  of  flowers — 
All  ours! 
And  of  God. 

For  earth's  kind  solace  and  cheer, 

The  wind's  light  hand, 
Waver  of  bird-song  anear 

Through  the  luminous  leaves 
For  the  spell  that  the  twilight  weaves 
O'er  the  drowsy  land ; 
For  the  still  lake  under  the  moon, 
Brave  clash  of  the  surf  in  the  noon, 
And  the  blithe  dawn  carolling  soon — 
Rare  boon, 
At  His  hand. 


135 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


For  the  pageant  floating  far, 

God's  tapestry! 
Drama  of  spirit  and  star 

And  strange  transfiguring  gleams: 
For  all  the  wonder  of  dreams 
And  gracious  memory. 
For  the  saga-tale  of  our  race 
And  Fantasy's  fairy  face, 
For  the  finer  diviner  grace, 
That  can  trace, 
Even  Thee. 

For  human  fellowship 

More  than   all,   thank  God! 
For  the  brotherly  hand  and  the  lips 
Of  dear  delight; 

For  the  love  that  can  scale  Heaven's  height 
Yet  seek  the  sod 

And  nestle  warm,  which  hath  scope 
To  wing  the  Abyss,  under  cope 
Of  awful  curtains — which  ope 
To  our  hope, 
Thank  God! 


136 


Poems  of  Meditation 


HERITAGE 

ONLY  a  feminine  clerk 

With  a  spirit  composedly  furled; 
Yet  she  wears  about  her  work 

The  mystery  of  a  world. 

Body  and  hope  and  thought, 

Tissue  of  heart  and  brain, 
Daintily  life-inwrought, 

Are  but  memories  waking  again. 

Eyes  of  our  earlier  west 

Beam  from  her  here  and  now ; 

Some  forayer's  frown  unblest 
Fades  between  brow  and  brow; 

The  waves  in  her  hair  are  the  gift 
Of  the  bride  of  a  Baltic  hold; 

There's  a  sway  of  her  head  and  a  lift 
That  were  learned  on  the  cloth  of  gold. 

It  was  yestermorn  she  wept, — 

They  were  ancient  cave-dweller  tears : 

And  the  love  in  her  heart  that  leapt 
It  has  numbered  ten  thousand  years. 

Magic  of  ages  astir, 

Working  through  dimness  of  doom, 
Born  to  new  being  in  her — 

Unknowing,  enchanted,  abloom! 
137 


Legends  of  the  New  World 

Daughter  of  all  we  have  won, 
Mother  of  all  we  shall  be, 

Under  the  shade  or  the  sun 
Let  her  go  laughing  and  free. 


Poems  of  Meditation 


THE  VOYAGE  OF  ST.  BRANDAN 

(AN  ALLEGORY) 

FAINT  and  far  sang  the  headland  bell, 

The  cross  was  a  span-long  rod ; 
And  he  said :  "I  am  going  away,  away, 

From  the  very  name  of  God." 

The  pearl  moon  rose  and  the  great  sun  sank, 

And  clouds  in  the  wake  hove  up ; 
And  he  drank  full  life  from  the  stiffening  breeze 

The  wine  of  the  ocean  cup. 

But  ever  from  out  the  racing  rack 

He  saw  the  long  arms  reach, 
And  the  lightning  drove  like  a  spear  that's  flung 

By  the  foiled  from  a  hostile  beach. 

And  the  fine  fringe  curled  and  the  brown  depth 
swirled 

In  the  likeness  of  cowl  and  stole, 
And  the  muttered  breath  of  the  tempest's  wrath 

Was  a  curse  on  a  fleeing  soul. 

And  still  as  the  cloud-doors  opened  wide 

With  the  crash  of  a  mighty  strife 
White-hot  within  shone  the  grapple  of  sin 

And  the  thrust  at  a  brother's  life. 


139 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


And  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  mighty  wail 
And  a  clamor  of  "God!"  and  "Christ!" 

And  he  said:  "The  faith  that  is  bought  by  crime 
I  hold  it  is  dearly  priced. 

"Were  there  One  above  in  whose  heart  of  love 

All  living  things  are  borne 
How  could  He  share  in  the  wrongs  that  wear 

His  name  as  a  crest  of  scorn? 

"Then  those  may  kneel  who  fear  to  stand 

And  those  who  know  may  pray; 
But  I  from  the  very  name  of  God 

Am  going  away,  away." 

Still  in  the  van  of  the  driving  storm 

His  sail  untattered  spread, 
And  far  through  the  spume  of  the  churning  seas 

To  the  west  and  south  he  sped  ; 

While  glutinous  strings  like  pennons  clung 

To  tafrrail  and  mast  and  shroud; 
And  the  sea  was  air  and  the  air  was  sea, 

One  with  the  dipping  cloud. 

And  eyes  were  turned  on  the  form  that  spurned 

The  fetters  of  all  control; 
They  read  in  the  lines  of  his  settled  brow 

The  strength  of  a  steadfast  soul. 


140 


Poems  of  Meditation 


But  the  blast  it  died  and  the  swol'n  waves  sank 

Under  a  burning  sky; 
And  they  called  aloud  with  a  sudden  voice : 

"Back  or  we  surely  die! 

"For  all  men  know  of  the  slanting  mere 

Whence  none  may  climb  to  flee 
And  the  deadly  hiss  of  the  boiling  waves 

And  the  isles  where  the  monsters  be." 

"Be  calm,"  he  said,  "for  the  falsest  thing 

Is  the  thing  that  all  men  know; 
In  your  own  soul  look  for  the  monsters  dire 

And  Hell  with  its  evil  glow." 

Then  out  of  the  heart  of  the  hot,  hot  south 

A  cooling  breath  there  came 
As  the  twilight  air  blows  chill  and  rare 

From  the  west  with  its  gloried  flame. 

Up  from  the  sea  as  in  olden  tales 

An  island  seemed  to  rise, 
And  they  saw  thereon  the  strangest  sight 

Was  ever  beneath  the  skies ; 

For  the  light  waves  beat  at  the  very  feet 

Of  walls  as  the  crystal  clear, 
Through  buttress  and  tower  showed  trees  in  flower 

And  vales  that  were  full  of  cheer. 


141 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


The  rampart-fretting  was  like  the  setting 

Of  gems  on  a  frosted  pane, 
And  spire  on  spire  rose  high  and  higher 

Like  the  forms  of  a  freezing  rain. 

Far  through  a  gap,  in  the  land's  soft  lap 

A  city  of  snow  saw  they, 
With  pillar  and  dome  and  hall  and  home 

By  the  curve  of  a  noble  bay. 

Then  a  barge  put  forth  like  the  casket-couch 

That  floats  for  an  Asian  king, 
Velvet-flushed  as  the  sun-storm  fringe 

And  pearled  like  a  golden  ring. 

There  were  seated  forms,  there  were  robes  of  state, 

But  never  a  helm  or  oar ; 
With  scarce  a  motion  and  never  a  sound 

They  flew  like  a  gleam  from  shore. 

The  chief  stepped  down  with  an  eager  brow 

And  they  spake  in  courtly  wise; 
And  he  called: — "Farewell  till  I  bring  you  word 

From  the  queen  of  the  awesome  eyes." 


They  watched  adream  for  a  night  and  a  day; 

Back  to  the  ship  he  came: 
And  he  cried :  "This  land  is  a  brimful  bowl 

Of  wonders  no  tongue  can  name. 


142 


Poems  of  Meditation 


"The  seasons'  law  that  we  held  in  awe 

Is  a  vassal  of  sure  control, 
And  the  isle  is  free  from  the  blasting  fires 

That  rage  in  the  human  soul. 

"Her  palaces  fair  are  fine  as  air 

And  they  sink  or  rise  at  will, 
The  gentlest  word  grows  a  sound  that  is  heard 

At  a  league-length  gathering  still ; 

"The  night  hath  doffed  its  solemn  mask 

And  shines  like  a  keener  day, 
And  every  bird  in  a  lifelong  spring 

Chanteth  its  matin  lay: 

"And  every  soul  in  field  or  town 

Lives  only  to  do  or  know; 
Not  a  quaver  of  prayer  is  in  all  the  air 

Nor  a  hint  of  an  inner  woe. 

"Ah,  here  at  last  is  the  happy  land 

That  knows  not  God  nor  strife; 
For  I  asked  the  wise  and  they  answered  all: 

1  'Tis  an  old  word  brought  to  life.' 

"And  I  asked  the  queen  in  her  height  of  pride 

Never  a  word  said  she: 
But  she  turned  her  eyes  with  a  sudden  chill 

On  the  Nothing  back  of  me. 


143 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


"Yet  she  draws  my  heart  and  she  bows  my  soul 
With  the  spell  of  those  sundown  eyes; 

And  her  form  sways  rare  as  the  waves  of  air 
In  the  curves  of  her  fine  surprise. 

"For  the  only  thing  that  can  stir  the  string 

Of  her  harp  of  joy  and  power 
Is  some  new  key  to  the  mystery 

Of  the  world's  locked  force  and  flower." 


A  second  day  he  was  borne  away. 

Back  to  the  deck  he  came. 
But  his  head  hung  low  as  of  one  who  felt 

A  burden  of  doubt  or  blame. 

"They  have  drawn  from  the  lungs  of  earth,"  said  he, 

"The  glow  of  her  fervid  breath; 
And  they  warm  their  food  by  the  self-same  fire 

That  mothers  the  molten  death. 

"In  the  upper  earth  you  may  see  them  float, 

Navies  of  thistledown: 

Faster  than  wind  through  the  wind  they  shear, 
And  sink  or  rise  with  never  a  fear 

Myriad  winglets  brown. 

"They  have  melted  earth  into  finest  fire 

And  hunted  each  atom  home, 
The  fine  thrilled  units  of  soil  and  star 

Spray-mist  and  marble  dome. 


144 


Poems  of  Meditation 


"But  every  face  in  line  and  hue 

Is  like  as  a  brother's  son; 
And  they  live  in  thought  and  they  walk  with  care 

Wearily  every  one. 

"The  smallest  child  that  e'er  I  met 

Had  a  face  beyond  all  mirth ; 
He  jotted  me  down  with  his  wrinkling  brow 

Like  the  wisest  of  the  earth. 

"I  sought  a  sage  and  I  asked  him  'Whence?' 

He  sighed  and  shook  his  head. 
I  asked  him  'Why?'  and  'Whither?'  and  'How?'— 

'They  are  idle  words,'  he  said. 

"And  I  see  small  gain  of  their  patient  pain 

But  a  marvel  and  passing  show: 
For  link  by  link  they  have  neared  the  brink 

Of  the  all  that  they  can  know. 

"And  I  heard  a  sound  of  anguish  dire, 

A  stifled,  piteous  cry, 
As  of  one  outborne  from  the  face  of  man 

While  the  queen  went  smiling  by." 

Yet  another  day  was  he  borne  away: 

A  third  time  back  he  came. 
But  his  cheeks  were  red  as  the  sun's  sea-bed 

And  his  eyes  had  a  wrathful  flame. 


145 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


He  cried: — "There's  a  doom  on  the  hollow  isle; 

There's  a  curse  on  the  queen  of  ill : 
Direr  than  woes  that  are  wrought  by  zeal 

Are  the  works  of  the  heart  that  is  chill. 

"Her  form  has  the  motion  of  mist  on  ocean 
When  a  light  wind  fans  and  sings; 

And  every  limb  will  sway  and  swim, 
Till  you  look  for  angel  wings. 

"But  a  father  bent  o'er  his  child  that  was  dead ; 

The  mother  sat  like  stone; 
And  through  the  stillness  I  seemed  to  hear 

Their  hearts  in  a  pleading  moan. 

"I  turned  away;  but  the  wise  men  bowed 

With  a  student's  eager  will, 
The  tremor  of  pain  through  nerve  and  brain 

Tracing  with  subtle  skill. 

"Quoth  one:  'This  stir  is  of  olden  blood, 

How  slowly  its  ripples  die!' 
But  the  dread  queen  smiled :  'It  is  more  to  me 

Than  the  message  of  field  or  sky. 

"  Tor  tree  or  star,  be  it  near  or  far, 

We  shall  surely  have  for  aye ; 
But  this  must  pass,  like  the  breath  on  the  glass, 

As  the  race  grows  wise  and  grey.' 


Poems  of  Meditation 


"Yet  I  felt  the  power  of  her  twilight  eyes 

And  the  spell  of  her  soulless  will ; 
And  I  walked  at  eve  with  her  full-browed  train 

In  the  woodlands  bright  and  cool. 

"So  we  passed  anear  the  shadowy  home 
Where  the  stricken  must  live  or  die  ; 

And  one  crawled  forth  in  the  vivid  light 
And  raised  his  hand  on  high. 

"We  shrank  from  the  gleam  on  his  bony  brow 
And  his  tongue  that  toiled  to  speak: 

But  she  kneeled  her  down  and  she  peered  and  pried 
With  the  poise  of  a  vulture  beak. 

"Under  the  peer  of  those  wistful  eyes 

The  poor  life  fluttered  and  fled. 
She  rose  with  a  sigh:  'I  can  learn  no  more 

From  the  dying  than  from  the  dead/ 

"Then  warm  and  white  in  a  wingless  flight 

A  grander  presence  came; 
And  he  towered  midway  in  the  path  we  trod, 

While  the  pale  queen  shrank  in  shame. 

"His  voice  had  the  swell  of  a  warning  bell, 

And  the  forest's  midnight  moan, 
And  the  mighty  march  through  groin  and  arch 

Of  the  organ's  deepening  tone. 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


"But  the  frailest  flowers,  as  in  summer  showers, 

Brightened  beneath  his  tread; 
And  the  timid  wings  that  the  forest  hides 

Hovered  about  his  head. 

"The  boughs  were  thrilling,  the  leaves  distilling 

A  dew  of  odorous  balm ; 
The  earth  was  full  of  a  happy  dream, 

The  air  of  a  holy  calm. 

"So  I  left  the  queen  and  her  barren  lore — 

Let  us  leave  them  all  for  aye. 
And  out  o'er  the  waste  to  the  isles  of  God 

We  will  sail  away,  away." 


Poems  of  Meditation 


THE  BURDEN  OF  1898 

(A    PRODUCT  OF   THE   SPANISH   WAR) 

OUT  of  the  waste — do  ye  hearken? — the  cry  of  the 
crucified ! 

Man  for  whom  men  have  suffered,  man  for  whom 
One  hath  died ! 

O  ancient  river  of  anguish!  O  hurrying,  harrow- 
ing tide! 

Bitter  its  demon  fountain  boiled  through  Arabian 
sand, 

Pale  hung  the  Crescent  o'er  it,  glimmered  the  sor- 
cerer's wand; 

And  the  livid  waters  of  cursing  parted  to  blast  the 
land; 

On  Pyrenees  and  Carpathians  lapping  with  sullen 

swell  ; 
And  ever  the  fields  of  their  whelming  sicken  beneath 

the  spell: 
Ebbing  and  flowing,  they  lingered;  and  they  left 

the  spume  of  Hell. 

Frenzy  of  blood  ecstatic,  thronging  the  torture- 
ring  ; 

Venom  of  traitorous  heart,  death-mined  for  the 
midnight  spring ; 

Awful  horror  of  soul  that  can  jeer  at  the  famish- 
ing! 

149 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


Proud   of   her   leprous   purple,    crowned   with   her 

shameless  shame, 
One  by  the  Portal  waiteth  scourge  upon  scourge 

of  flame; 
One   by   Levantine  waters — and   the   sin    and   the 

doom  are  the  same. 

Waken  thou  murdered  Inca,  for  the  hour  that  was 
theirs  is  thine! 

Ye  haggard  spectres  of  Zeeland,  cheer  by  the  north- 
ern brine! 

O  multitudinous  voices  triumph  around  her  shrine! 

Most  august  powers  of  repression,  be  wise  as  the 

yielding  sod. 
Have   ye   not   seen    in   the   heavens   the   quivering 

vengeful  rod? 
Take  heed  to  the  spear  that  is  driven  by  the  visible 

arm  of  God. 


150 


Poems  of  Meditation 


WAITING  FOR  DAY 

(IN  THE  BAD  TIMES  AFTER  1893) 

O  THAT  all  pens  were  sunshine! — for  our  land 

Has  had  enough  of  gloom,  enough  of  woe. 
Keep  horrors  for  high  noon ;  let  all  things  banned 

Abide  the  solvent  of  that  jovial  glow. 
But  now,  as  with  wide  questioning  eyes  we  stand 

Uncertain  of  the  east,  where  come  and  go 

Faint  hues,  though  marvellous  welcome,  and,  too 

slow, 
By    dawn's    far   breath    our    wearying   brows    are 

fanned, — 
O  now,  if  ever,  lure  the  morning  on 

Or  bring  again  the  joy  of  yester  eve 
When  through  the  tremulous  leafery  the  sun 

Its  web  of  glory  o'er  the  wall  did  weave, 
That  these  dull  skies  may  feel  the  benison, 

And  we,  remembering,  with  strong  heart  believe. 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


WALT  WHITMAN 

ATHLETE  of  Paumanok,  whose  strenuous  line 

Has  clasped  a  continent  with  stained  arm, 
Thou  art  not  of  to-day  nor  years  that  shine 

With  the  soul's  promise  and  the  spirit's  charm. 
The  rosy  white-limbed  pagan  days  were  thine 

When  men  found  godhead  in  the  gracious  form; 
And,  garlanded,  came  dancing  round  the  shrine, 
Or  led  the  bounding  choir  in  nudity  divine. 
Restored  in  thee  the  very  soul  we  scan 

Of  that  blithe-blooded  rare  boy-bather's  land: 
The  glad  fond  kinship  with  all  nature's  plan  ; 

Keen  eyes,  free  breath,  the  comrade-clasping  hand, 
And  the  strong  sympathy  with  man  as  man, 

Whole-hearted  and  invincible  and  grand. 


152 


Poems  of  Meditation 


TRANSVAAL 

(A    SOUVENIR   OF   THE    BOER   WAR) 

THE  soul  of  Leyden  is  alive  again! — 

The  champion  of  the  north-sands,  reared  among 
Mist-swollen  cape  and  river-netted  fen 

And  slippery  isles  of  Zeeland ;  he  who  swung 
His  wide  arms  through  the  tempest;  in  whose  ken 

Slumbered  the  golden  cities ;  he  who  wrung 

The  brown  sea-walls  asunder,  and  who  flung 
The  combed  waves  as  a  missile,  homes  of  men 
And  emerald  expanse  whelming;  whose  clear  eye 
Mirrored  the  lights  of  freedom  ere  the  sky 

Flushed  with  their  dawning;  whose  unconquered 
brow 

Rose  o'er  the  turmoil,  as  it  rises  now 

Bastioned  by  Afric  mountains,  to  endow 
Man  with  a  godlike  power  to  live  and  die. 


153 


Legends  of  the  New  World 


LARK  AND  NIGHTINGALE 

FROM  that  old  dreamland  over  the  great  sea 
Two  airy  voices  ever  float  to  me 

Here  in  this  mythless  noonday  world  of  ours, 
Singing  of  ivied  ruin,  elfin  tree, 

And  winding  lanes  abloom  with  hedgerow  flowers. 

Rare  are  the  warblers  of  our  western  bowers, 
But  ye  are  magic  and  a  mystery. 

Unreal  ye  seem  as  Oberon's  tricksy  powers 

Or    Queen    Titania's    smile    through    glistening 

showers. 
I  love  our  paean,  many-toned  and  strong 

Welcoming  the  sun,   the   lone   dove's  mournful 

cry, 
Our  robin's  vesper  hymn,  the  mock-bird's  throng 

Of  riotous  music;  yet  before  I  die 
Would  hear  the  soul  of  twilight  breathed  in  song, 

The  voice  of  dawn  athrilling  from  the  sky. 


154 


Poems  of  Meditation 


EDGAR  POE'S  GRAVE 

CHILL  the  nook  beside  the  barren  street, 
Walled  from  man  but  open  to  the  sky. 
O'er  the  stone  the  cloudy  shadows  fleet ; 
Clings  the  mist,  a  pallid  winding  sheet ; 

Death  and  life  have  met  eternally. 
Still  the  pageant  troops  before  his  eye, 

Who  abode  in  starlit  mystery. 
Wayward  spirit  of  the  haunted  glen, 
Tuneful  wanderer  of  the  midnight  blast, 
Doomed  awhile  to  dwell  with  mortal  men 

Singing  phantom  kindred  as  they  passed, 
Airy  harp  with  notes  beyond  our  ken, 
Subtle,  pure,  our  one  unearthly  pen, 

Come  what  may  the  foremost  and  the  last! 


155 


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